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GLEANINGS 



FROM 



A LITERARY LIFE. 



BY TEE SAME AUTHOR. 

MODERN PHILOSOPHY, 
FROM DESCARTES TO SCHOPENHAUER AND HARTMANN. 



AMERICAN POLITICAL ECONOMY: 

INCLUDING STRICTURES ON THE MANAGEMENT OF THE 
CURRENCY AND THE FINANCES SINCE 1861. 



*#* Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, 

743 and 745 Broadway, New York. 



GLEANINGS 



FKOM 



A LITERARY LIFE 



1838-1880 



/ 



FRANCIS BOWEN, LL. D. 

ALFOKD PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN HARVARD COLLEGE 



" La litterature n'a jamais 6t6 son but, mais son moyen " 



r^SX 0F : - 



NEW YORK 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

743 and 745 Broadway 

1880 



T 






Ithb ubraet 
lor c oyQi tB*» I 

W ASH1HQTOM 

Copyright, 1880, 
Br CHARLES SCRIBNER ; S SONS. 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 

H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 



PKEFAOE. 



The contents of this volume have been gleaned from 
a wide field. They have been selected from a much 
larger number of miscellaneous papers, and are here 
brought together as having some unity of purpose, 
devoted as they are to the exposition and defence of 
doctrines which seem to me of priceless interest and 
importance. They were not meant to set forth novel 
opinions, or any mode of thought or system of belief 
here first propounded, but to guard and inculcate some 
of the old and familiar truths which are the best por- \ 
tion of the heritage which we have received from for- 
mer generations. They express the earnest and per- 
sistent convictions of the writer upon topics of great 
moment, which still so far occupy the minds of all 
thoughtful persons as to appear foremost among what 
may be called the burning questions of the day. Lit- 
erature is not in its highest vocation when it is culti- 
vated merely for its own sake, but only when used as 
a means of promoting other and nobler ends than those 
of a purely literary character. 

A few of these papers are here printed for the first 



VI PREFACE. 

time. Others had been in print, but can hardly be 
said to have been published. The larger number of 
them are taken from the different periodicals in which 
they have appeared during the last forty years. 

The Essay upon Classical and Utilitarian Studies is 
an attempt to prove that the proper end and aim of 
the higher education, which is sought within the walls 
of a University or a College, is not to impart useful 
information, which is best obtained from Scientific, 
Technical, and Professional Schools, but to develop the 
intellect and form the character by those " liberal stud- 
ies " and scholastic exercises for the promotion of which 
Universities were first instituted. The papers upon 
Political Economy are almost exclusively devoted to 
pointing out the serious evils which menace the peace 
of society and the safety of property and trade, through 
tampering with the standard of value and the pub- 
lic credit by reckless experiments with the currency, 
and by permitting the enormous increase of national 
and municipal debt which has marked the financial 
history of the civilized world during the present 
century. 

But most of the Essays in this volume are upon phil- 
osophical subjects, and may be regarded as a supple- 
ment to the volume published three years ago upon 
" Modern Philosophy, from Descartes to Schopenhauer 
and Hartmann." They were intended to expose and 
refute those doctrines of materialism and fatalism, of 
agnosticism and pessimism, which have been imported 
into America from England and Germany, where they 
have usurped the name and garb of biological and 






PEEFACE. yii 

physical science. But for the undue prestige which is 
attached in this country to opinions and reputations 
of European origin, these theories would not have ac- 
quired here the popularity and influence which they 
actually possess. The hypothesis, for it is nothing 
more, of the evolution of all things out of chaotic dirt, 
through powers and agencies necessarily inherent and 
immanent in that dirt, unhelped and unguided any- 
where by an organizing Mind, is too monstrous a doc- 
trine ever to be entertained by competent thinkers. It 
teaches "the essential bestiality" of man, and if gen- 
erally accepted, it would destroy all the finer qualities 
of his nature and condition, and reduce him again to 
what it claims to have been his primitive state, — at 
first, a brother to the insensate clod, and then a beast. 
I have argued strenuously against these infidel specu- 
lations, because I believe them to be as baseless as they 
are injurious. The upholders of them are not only at 
war with all morality and religion, but they are also, 
though for the most part unconsciously, attacking those 
institutions of property, the family, and the state, on 
which the whole fabric of modern civilization is based. 
I have controverted them because not only the conse- 
quences of their doctrines are pernicious, but their 
method is misleading and unsound ; because their in- 
ferences conflict with all sound reasoning and faithfully 
observed facts ; because their science is unscientific and 
their philosophy is unphilosophical. In these respects, 
what I have fully believed, and earnestly though im- 
perfectly attempted to teach, during the last forty 
years, is set forth in these Essays. If the arguments 



Vlll 



PREFACE. 



contained in them fail to impart to others the entire 
and trustful conviction which they have created in my 
own mind, the fault is not in the cause, but in the ad- 
vocate. 

Harvard College, September 10, 1880. 



CONTENTS, 



EDUCATION. 

paqe 
Prefatory Note : The Contest between the Ancients and the 

Moderns 5 

Classical and Utilitarian Studies 8 

A paper read before the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Feb- 
ruary 26, 1867. 
Appendix : The Abuse of the Study of Grammar . . . .30 



POLITICAL ECONOMY. 



A Minority Report on the Silver Question 33 

Presented to the Senate of the United States, in April, 1877. 

The Perpetuity of National Debt 71 

A suppressed Chapter of Political Economy, read before the American 
Academy of Arts and Sciences, in March, 1868. 

The Financial Conduct of the War 93 

A Lecture delivered before the Lowell Institute, in Boston, in Novem- 
ber, 1865. 
The Utility and the Limitations of the Science of Political 

Economy 118 

From the Christian Examiner for March, 1838. 



PHILOSOPHY. 



Dualism, Materialism, or Idealism 136 

From the Princeton Review for March, 1878. 
The Idea of Cause 164 

From the Princeton Review for May, 1879. 
The Latest Form of the Development Theory 199 

From the Memoirs of the American Academy, New Series, Vol. V. Com- 
municated March 27, April 10, and May 1, 1860. 
Diseases and Malformations not hereditable 232 

From the Proceedings of the American Academy for January, 1861. 
The Psychical Effects of Etherization 242 

From The Spectator, London, December 27, 1873. 



X CONTENTS. 

'J Buckle's History or Civilization . . . . , . . . 247 

From the North American Review for October, 1861. 
John S. Mill's Examination op Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy 288 

From the American Presbyterian Review for April and July, 1869. 
The Human and the Brute Mind 328 

Erom the Princeton Review for May, 1880. 
Malthusianism, Darwinism, and Pessimism 352 

Erom the North American Review for November, 1879. 

f Blaise Pascal .... 381 
From the North American Review for April, 1845. 
Essays and Reviews : The Oxford Clergymen's Attack on Chris- 
tianity 421 

Erom the North American Review for January, 1861. 



Restoration op the Text op Shakespeare : The Battle op the 

Commentators 457 

From the North American Review for April, 1854. 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 

PREFATORY NOTE ON THE CONTEST BETWEEN THE ANCIENTS AND THE 

MODERNS. 

The warfare of the moderns against the ancients, as it was 
called, which raged so fiercely in the French Academy during 
the latter part of the seventeenth century, was immediately 
carried over by St. Evremond into England, and there caused 
the celebrated " battle of the books." Sir William Temple 
and William Wotton became the chief participants in the fray 
on English ground, the contest between these two leading 
ultimately to the memorable discussion between Bentley and 
Boyle. Then the controversy slumbered so long that it seemed 
to have died out and to be forgotten by the learned ; but the 
embers still glowed under the ashes, and the dispute broke 
out afresh in our own day, of all places in the world, within 
the usually quiet precincts of the American Academy. We 
fought over what was, in the main, the same ground, though 
the recent discussion arose under new circumstances and had a 
different purpose in view. In the former case, the question 
was a purely literary one ; it concerned the relative merits of 
the ancients and the moderns considered merely as guides to 
taste and models for imitation. In the latter case, the dispute 
turned upon the educational value of the Greek and Roman 
classics, the question being whether they ought to retain the 
preeminent place which they had so long held in our higher 
schools and universities. We did not ask, as the French and 
English had done before us, whether the moderns had not 
equalled, or even surpassed, the ancients in poetry, philosophy, 
eloquence, and history ; but whether physical science and the 
useful practical arts had not made so much progress that they 
ought to crowd out the classics as topics of instruction and 
means of discipline in our highest seminaries of learning. 



6 THE ANCIENTS AND THE MODERNS. 

Those who began the contest in France, and who were the 
acknowledged leaders in the assault upon the reputation of the 
ancients, were the brothers Perrault, one of whom was the ar- 
chitect of the Louvre ; and among their active supporters were 
Desmarets, Thomas Corneille, Fontenelle, and La Motte. On 
the other side, there was a far greater array of distinguished 
names, embracing most of the great writers of the Augustan 
age of French literature, the age of Louis XIY. Boileau was 
the veteran in command, and while he led the van in the con- 
flict, he was eagerly followed by Racine, Fenelon, La Fontaine, 
La Bruy&re, Dacier, and his accomplished wife, the translator 
of Homer. Charles Perrault followed up the attack, which 
had been commenced by his elder brothers and Desmarets, in 
an elaborate work, written with much wit and eloquence, but 
with defective erudition, which he entitled " A Parallel be- 
tween the Ancients and the Moderns." Boileau retorted with 
a shower of epigrams, one of which I have placed as a motto at 
the head of the following paper. Finding that this discharge 
of small arms did not produce enough effect, he published a 
translation of Longinus on the Sublime, to which he appended 
"critical reflections" at great length, containing a savage per- 
sonal attack upon his antagonist, and a merciless exposure of 
his literary blunders and the absurdity of his principles of 
taste. Racine followed up the blow with a long preface to his 
tragedy of " Iphige*nie," in which he soundly rated the oppo- 
site party for their ignorance and presumption, and their im- 
perfect appreciation of the master-pieces of ancient art. I 
cannot follow the history of the controversy farther, as it was 
prolonged for about half a century, and the literature of the 
subject is considerable. The whole forms a curious episode in 
the early history of the French Academy. 

The parties to the discussion in the American Academy cer- 
tainly kept their tempers better than their French predeces- 
sors did, and aimed to treat each other with perfect good 
humor and courtesy. Dr. Jacob Bigelow, who had been 
president of the Academy for several years, and who, like the 
elder Perrault, was equally distinguished as a physician, an 
architect, a scholar, and a wit, began the debate by a lively 
and ingenious paper, which he read at the meeting held on the 



THE ANCIENTS AND THE MODERNS. 7 I 

20th of December, 1866. My reply, a defence of Classical 
Studies as a means of education, was read at the next subse- 
quent meeting, and is here virtually published for the first 
time, though a few copies of it were printed in 1867 for pri- 
vate distribution. In an address delivered at the opening of 
the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, November 16, 
1865, Dr. Bigelow had made another vigorous plea for the 
moderns against the ancients ; and this address, together with 
the paper which he read before the Academy, were published 
by him, in 1867, in a volume entitled " Modern Inquiries." 
The experiment of substituting utilitarian for classical studies 
in the higher education was thus ably advocated ; and it was 
fairly tried, first, by the establishment of the Scientific School 
in Harvard College, and secondly, by the foundation of this 
Institute of Technology. The result of the experiment thus 
made may be said to have given the victory to the advocates 
of Classical Studies ; for neither of these two institutions has 
justified the hopes of its founders. And the Agricultural 
School at Amherst, established on a similar plan and liberally 
supported by the State, has recently been declared to be a 
total failure. I believe it is now generally admitted by all 
competent persons who have watched the results of the trials 
thus made, that what is properly called a liberal education 
cannot be built up, even in this democratic country, on any 
other basis than a thorough study of mathematics and of the 
Latin and Greek classics. 

If the study of the ancient authors should ever decline and 
die out in this country, it will be the classical teachers' own 
fault. The calamity will be due to their ill-judged and taste- 
less substitution of grammatical subtleties and needless philo- 
logical refinements for the generous and attractive study of 
classical literature and art, and to the consequent disgust with 
which they have compelled their pupils to regard the whole 
subject. Hence, to this plea in behalf of Classical Studies, I 
have added in an Appendix an earnest protest against the 
abuse of the study of grammar. If there be not a complete 
reformation of the practice of our teachers in this respect, the 
advocates of utilitarian studies must ultimately win an easy 
triumph. 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 

A PAPER READ BEFORE THE AMERICAN ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES, 
FEBRUARY 26, 1867. 

" Clio vint, l'autre jour, se plaindre au dieu des vers 

Qu'en certain lieu de l'univers, 
On traitait d'auteurs froids, de poetes steriles, 

Les Homeres et les Virgiles. 
' Cela ne saurait etre ; on s'est moque de vous,' 

Reprit Apollon en courroux. 
* Ou peut-on avoir dit une telle infamie ? 

Est-ce ehez les Hurons, chez les Topinambous ? ' — 
C'est a Paris. — ' C'est done dans l'hopital des fous % ' 

Non ; e'est au Louvre, en pleine Academie." 

BOILEAU. 

It may reasonably be doubted whether education is a legiti- 
mate topic for investigation and discussion by this Academy. 
And yet it is both a science and an art ; a science of definite 
principles, well-organized methods, and demonstrable results ; 
and an art of measureless practical importance. However this 
may be, the question is no longer an open one, but has been 
decided for us by the authority of our venerable ex-President, 
who, at one of our recent meetings, read an elaborate essay, 
which he has since published, on " Classical and Utilitarian 
Studies." That essay, learned, witty, and ingenious, as every- 
thing is which comes from his pen, is further remarkable be- 
cause it is written by an excellent classical scholar, and con- 
tains a sweeping condemnation of Classical Studies, especially 
when used as an organon of education. As Dr. Bigelow has 
forgotten more Greek than most of us ever learned, he will 
pardon me for saying that he has indirectly and unconsciously 
refuted himself ; since his paper, as appears from the very face 
of it, could not have been written except by a proficient in the 
very studies which it condemns. And this essay has gone 
forth to the world, not only with all the weight of authority 
which belongs to its authorship, but with the implied sanction 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 9 

of this Academy, if some voice, however feeble, be not here 
raised to controvert the doctrine which it teaches. 

And what is this doctrine ? Speaking briefly, it is, that this 
bustling and practical age in which we live, — this age of 
steam-engines, railroads, gas-lights, and Atlantic telegraphs, 
when the physical sciences are growing with a rapidity that 
takes away one's breath, and startling us with new wonders 
every day, — has no time or thought to waste on dead lan- 
guages, obsolete sciences, or works of literature and art which 
served well enough to amuse the world when it was in its in- 
fancy. The time has come for the navigator to take a new 
departure. Efface the record of airthat was said or done be- 
fore the year 1500, or thereabouts. Throw the Greek and 
Latin classics overboard ; abandon even " the intellectual pur- 
suits " of those who wrote them ; stick to " utilitarian science 
and studies, connected with practical, material, tangible, and 
useful things." " For more than five thousand years, — from 
the beginning of history until about three centuries ago, — 
the human race had made little progress in anything which we 
now regard as constituting material welfare, or growth in 
power, knowledge, and means of happiness." " A few of the 
last generations have not only excelled, but greatly distanced, 
the collective performances of all those who have preceded 
them." Abandon, then, " the barren studies " of the olden 
time ; learn " the new philosophy," which dates only from the 
age of Bacon, and is illustrated by the marvels of modern dis- 
covery and invention. A lifetime is too short to acquire an 
adequate comprehension of what the utilitarian sciences of our 
own day have accomplished for the world's welfare. Let the 
dead past bury its dead. And this advice is given not only for 
the distribution of time and effort by men of mature years, 
but with especial reference to the education of the young. 

This brief summary, given mostly in his own words, shows 
that Dr. Bigelow's quarrel is not only with the languages, but 
with " the intellectual pursuits," of the ancients, — with all the 
sciences and arts in which they peculiarly excelled. His cen- 
sure strikes not merely their forms of speech, but their litera- 
ture, their habits of thought, their arts, their logic, and philos- 
ophy. It is little that he denies the educational value of these 



10 CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 

things ; the present generation, he thinks, can profitably discard 
them altogether. The world, we are told, has outgrown the 
Greeks and Romans in all respects. The Essayist traverses 
the two thousand years of history which immediately preceded 
the age of Bacon, and finds that all is barren. To him, physi- 
cal science is everything ; the moral sciences are a mere wil- 
derness of words and waste of labor. And even physical science 
deserves cultivation only so far as it leads to definite and tangi- 
ble results, and conduces to the material welfare of mankind, — 
only so far as it facilitates the invention of such things as loco- 
motives, spinning-jennies, and Parrott guns. The essay might 
bear as its motto the m'axim of Sardanapalus : " Eat, drink, 
and obtain the maximum of physical ease and enjoyment ; the 
rest is not worth a fillip." Not Dr. Bigelow's original inten- 
tion surely, but the necessities of his argument, drove him to 
these sweeping iconoclastic doctrines. He finds it impossible 
to decry the study of the ancient languages except upon those 
low utilitarian principles which preclude our finding merit in 
anything that does not promote physical comfort, or gratify 
ambition by enslaving outward nature to our material uses. 
I am glad that it is so. The extravagance of the conclusions 
is a complete reductio ad absurdum of the premises. 

The Essayist has overlooked one point, a due estimation of 
which is essential to any full consideration of the subject. 
Harvard College has less than four hundred and fifty under- 
graduates ; add those at Williams, Amherst, Tufts, and one 
or two smaller institutions, and we have, in this State, a 
total of about one thousand students in college. It might 
seem that there are about one thousand others in schools and 
academies, who are pursuing preparatory Classical Studies; 
but as less than half of the undergraduate period is devoted to 
these studies, and not more than two years are spent in acquir- 
ing Latin and Greek enough for admission to college, — the 
remainder of the time being given to mathematics and physical 
or moral science, — it follows that there are not, at any one 
time, more than about one thousand, or twelve hundred, young 
men in Massachusetts who are studying what are called the 
dead languages. Our population is over twelve hundred thou- 
sand, of whom about one sixth, or two hundred thousand, are, 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 11 

or ought to be, receiving a school education ; in other words, 
one out of every two hundred pupils is, at any one time, study- 
ing the classics. 1 This proportion is probably larger in Mas- 
sachusetts than in any other State in the Union ; and I believe 
it is quite as large as in any country in Europe, with the pos- 
sible exception of Germany, where the direct patronage of gov- 
ernment fosters these studies to a somewhat unnatural extent. 
Then, if asked whether our industrious and inventive con- 
temporaries would do well to intermit their mechanical pursuits 
in order to study the ancient languages and sciences, the an- 
swer is, Certainly not ; no sane advocate of Classical Studies 
expects or wishes the thousandth part of the whole community 
to do any such thing. But what then ? Because not one man 
out of a hundred thousand needs to become a practical astron- 
omer, we do not therefore break our telescopes and pull down 
our observatories. The function of the select few is not to be 
construed into a universal obligation. The real question is, 
whether those few, — about the two hundredth part of the 
whole educable number, — who have the time, means, and 
wish to obtain a liberal education, — that is, to give themselves, 
up to about twenty-one years of age, to general studies, before 
undertaking the special studies of some particular profession, 
— should be encouraged to devote one fourth or one third part 
of this training-time to the ancient languages and sciences ; 
and this, not more for their own sake, than for that of the whole 
community who are hereafter to profit by their scholastic at- 
tainments. The classics have no place in our primary or 
grammar schools ; we would not even make the study of them 
imperative in our scientific schools or technological institutes, 
though, for reasons soon to be given, the pupils in the two last 
would unquestionably be better fitted for their work by the 
acquisition of a little Latin and Greek. And even in our col- 
leges, as already explained, less than half of the pupils' time is 
devoted to these languages. 

1 Harvard College has now (1880) over eight hundred undergraduates; and as 
the number in the other colleges is also considerably increased, there are now 
probably about sixteen hundred college students in Massachusetts. But a num- 
ber of these come from other States ; and as the population of Massachusetts now 
exceeds 1,600,000, the proportion stated in the text probably remains unaltered; 
as one out of every two hundred. 



12 CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 

I am not going to weary you with an attempt even to reca- 
pitulate all the grounds of apology (if I must use that word) 
for classical learning. The field has been so thoroughly trod- 
den down by the multitudes who have passed over it, that there 
is not a square inch of green turf left, and it offers but a dreary 
prospect. Scholars can well afford to rest their case on this 
single consideration, — that the words and the thoughts of the 
old Greeks and Romans have been so thoroughly incorporated, 
so deeply ingrained, into modern language and literature, 
whether French, Italian, Spanish, or English, that no thorough 
knowledge or appreciation of these derivatives is possible ex- 
cept by going to the sources whence they were drawn ; that this 
infusion has taken place, even in a greater degree, into modern 
science, which is so built upon ancient learning, — its precise, 
far-extended, and ever-increasing nomenclature being almost ex- 
clusively Greek — that, without a tolerable knowledge of that 
language, it may fairly be said that the student of science, how- 
ever earnest and capable, knows hardly a ivord of what he is 
talking about. Without such knowledge, the lawyer must seem, 
even to himself, in the names of the writs which he every day 
draws, and in the phraseology of the legal aphorisms which he 
is compelled constantly to cite, to be prating a jargon compared 
with which even Choctaw would be significant and harmo- 
nious. Without it, the physician cannot read intelligently a 
single page of a medical book. Without it, the divine, except 
by dim approximation and with much blind trust in very fal- 
lible human guides, cannot interpret the very title-deeds of 
man's salvation. Language itself, in its widest sense, not of 
this or that particular nation, but of the whole human race, — 
that marvellous work, as I believe, not of man, but of God him- 
self, — with all its intricacies of structure, complex harmonies, 
and subtle adaptations to the nicest shades of meaning, cannot 
be anatomized in structure or unfolded in thought, except by 
the aid of that special, and yet typical, form of it winch was 
spoken in Attica two thousand years ago. Universal gram- 
mar is a science which owes not merely its terminology, but its 
very being and substance, to the light which the special forma- 
tions and historical development of Latin and Greek, with their 
derivatives, have shed upon the structure of all other tongues. 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 13 

It is but an illustration of this general fact to say of English 
grammar, in all it parts, — orthography, etymology, syntax, 
and prosody, — as taught in our lowest public schools, that it is 
only, as these very words import, an uncouth representative — 
a sort of bastard child — of the Latin and Greek accidence. 
And I believe most practical teachers will bear me out in as- 
serting, that it is never taught with any thoroughness or to 
much profit, except as a consequent, and not as an antecedent, of 
the Latin grammar. How could it be otherwise, in view of the 
very complex origin of our language, its vigorous but somewhat 
wild development, and the heterogeneous elements of which 
it is made up ? Our noble mother-tongue is alike remarkable 
for its copiousness, its flexibility, its strength, and its lawless- 
ness. It will acknowledge no rule but 

" usus 
Quern penes arbitrium est et jus et norma loquendi ; " 

it will conform to no analogy ; but its abundant life and lux- 
uriant growth push forth into the most anomalous forms of 
branch, leaf, and fruit. Nearly forty per cent, of its vocabu- 
lary, it has been computed, is Latin or Greek ; and only in the 
complex but regular structure of those languages can we find 
— I will not say a key to its intricacies, but — a criterion and 
instrument by which we can trace its processes of development 
and measure its departures from rule. 

English literature, too, is so deeply imbued with the spirit 
of the classical ages that a large portion of it cannot be read 
with any enjoyment or intelligent appreciation, except under 
the light reflected from those stars of a distant firmament. 
Take Milton, for instance, in either of his two epics or in his 
minor poems ; and, apart from the gorgeous diction, so redolent 
of Greece and Rome, you find the very matter and substance 
of his verses so deeply saturated with the classical aroma, — 
so rich with allusions, imitations, and illustrations from the old 
perennial sources, from Greek and Roman mythology, history, 
tragedy, and art, — that, take away all recollection of these, 
and the poet's coloring fades, his spirit evaporates, and nothing 
remains but a caput mortuum. Even of his " Sampson Ago- 
nistes " it may be affirmed that only the framework is Hebrew ; 
the substance, the drapery, the soul within, is pure Greek, — a 



14 CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 

mere infusion of Sophocles and Euripides. Nearly as much 
may be said of Cowley, Dryden, Gray, Johnson, Keats ; and 
even of large portions of Tennyson, Mrs. Barrett, and other 
popular bards of our own day. Bacon, rightly or wrongly 
claimed as the founder of modern utilitarian science, wrote half 
of his works in Latin, and decanted so much of the classics into 
his English prose, even into his most popular work, the Essays, 
as to be well nigh unintelligible to any but a classical scholar, 
except in a richly annotated edition. Thomas Hobbes, the 
true master and exponent of modern utilitarianism and ma- 
terialism, also wrote Latin nearly half the time, and spent his 
youth on a translation of Thucydides, and his old age on a 
metrical version of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Follow down 
the line of English prose writers of any note, from Hooker and 
Bacon to Macaulay and Sir William Hamilton, striking out of 
each every allusion to the classics, — every citation from and 
everything suggested by them, — and what will remain but 
ragged fragments, alike destitute of coloring, coherence, and 
beauty ? 

Dr. Bigelow's Essay appears as a further exposition and de- 
fence of the theory maintained in his Discourse on " The Limits 
of Education," pronounced at the opening of the Technological 
Institute ; and must be viewed in connection also with an able 
" Lecture on Classical Studies," published, a short time before, 
by Professor Atkinson of that establishment. But the pecul- 
iar functions and studies of that Institute, as it seems to me, 
stand in no need of this indirect advocacy, and will not be pro- 
moted by depreciating the quite dissimilar work and office of 
our American colleges. The great want of special training in 
physical science and art, by many who have not the time, 
means, or taste for a full course of liberal education, was recog- 
nized long since by the friends of such education, and was met, 
over twenty years ago, by the establishment, first at Harvard, 
and afterwards at most of our New England colleges, of a 
" Scientific School," open to all who are acquainted with no 
language but their own, and who desire to study no other. 
Following the example thus set, and organized on precisely the 
same plan, the educational department of the Technological 
Institute has been created, to meet the wants of Boston, for 






CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 15 

whose youth it is evidently a great convenience to be enabled 
to pursue their studies and still to live at home. The design 
is an excellent one, and every friend of liberal, as well as of 
scientific, studies will bid God-speed to the enterprise. But 
it seems very injudicious on the part of its special advocates 
to attempt to recommend it still further by maintaining that 
a proper college education is worthless, or unsuited to the 
wants of the age, and a scientific one all-sufficient for every- 
body. At any rate, is it quite consistent for them, under such 
circumstances, as soon as they have created a professorship of 
English language and literature, to proceed to appoint to it a 
gentleman who has been an accomplished teacher of Latin 
and Greek for about a quarter of a century, and to fill nearly 
every other professorship in the Institute by distinguished grad- 
uates of colleges ? Such action is an involuntary confession, 
on their part, of the truth of the doctrine here maintained, — 
that, whatever may be said against the utility of Classical 
Studies, a good proficiency in them is, at any rate, indispensa- 
ble for obtaining or imparting any competent knowledge of the 
English language or its literature. 

I should not have alluded to this bit of local history, if it 
did not further illustrate the importance to the whole commu- 
nity of that course of liberal studies, in which the classics oc- 
cupy the chief place, — of that comprehensive, systematic, and 
generous training, enjoyed though it be only by comparatively 
few, — which no one thinks of seeking elsewhere than within 
the walls of a college. It teaches the teachers. It breaks down 
the partitions, and even the jealousies, which would otherwise 
sunder and impede labor in special vocations. By laying the 
foundations broad, even if not deep, — by widening the range 
of our sympathies, as well as of our power of comprehension, 
— by counteracting the necessarily narrow and narrowing in- 
fluences of the division of labor when applied to intellectual 
pursuits, it creates, what here in America, at any rate, we are 
in sore need of, a literary and scientific public, able and pa- 
tient always at least to hear, not infrequently qualified to un- 
derstand, sometimes competent to judge. 

And here I need not wander far in search of an illustration, 
but may find one in the very constitution of this Academy, 



16 CLASSICAL AND UTILITAEIAN STUDIES. 

and an echo in the feelings, as well as the judgment, of every 
gentleman who hears me. Here, our functions are as unexclu- 
sive as our corporate appellation, " The American Academy 
of Arts and Sciences," which might otherwise perhaps appear 
somewhat sweeping and pretentious. Here, more and more 
frequently, perhaps, than in any other assembly called to- 
gether at stated times on this continent, we are reminded of 
the essential brotherhood of all the arts and sciences ; and this 
truth cannot be felt, as well as understood, anywhere so well 
as in a society composed in the main of scholars, — of liberally 
educated men. I have not sought out the statistics of this 
subject, as it would be an impertinence to do so; but I fear 
not to avow the belief, that more than three fourths of our 
number are graduates of colleges. Neither can there be any 
fear lest I should seem to be here making an invidious distinc- 
tion ; since it appears from the proceedings of this evening, 1 
as well as from the results of several other meetings which are 
still recent, that what few honors we have to bestow, our 
Rumford medals and our elections to office, often fall to the 
share of the small minority who are more or less self-taught. 
All the merit which my argument requires me to claim for 
those of us who have been trained at college is, that our Clas- 
sical Studies, however little else they may have done for us, 
have, at least, so far liberalized our minds and increased our 
power of intelligent apprehension, that we can gladly hear, 
and to some small extent understand and appreciate, whatever 
is done to extend the bounds even of the most recondite and 
difficult sciences. We cannot make telescopes, probably could 
not adjust or use them when made; but we can honor those 
who have this power, and are thereby enabled to pierce far- 
ther into the remote secrets of God's universe than mortal eye 
ever saw before. Our Latin and Greek, however imperfectly 
remembered, serve at least to remind us, during the some- 
what abstruse and otherwise forbidding expositions and dis- 
cussions to which we often listen here, that all the sciences, 
whether they date from Aristotle and Hipparchus, or from 

1 At this meeting of the Academy, the Rumford Medal was delivered to Mr. 
Alvan Clark, of Cambridgeport, for improvements made by him in the construc- 
tion of lenses for refracting telescopes. 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 17 

this nineteenth century, whether the latest improvements in 
them come from Italy, Germany, France, England, or the 
United States, still speak a common language, and that one 
which we learned when we were boys, and which calls up a 
rush of pleasant memories. We can hear, not only without 
flinching, but even with gleams of significance and delight, 
Professor Peirce discourse about quaternions, isoperimetrics, 
loxodromics, and br achy stochr ones ; or you, Sir, 1 of exogens, 
endogens, phyllotaxis, epiphytes, dichotomous, pentdgynous, 
and pentandrous plants ; or Mr. Agassiz, of digitigrades, aca- 
lephs, gasteropods, cephalopods, pachyderms, echinoderms, and 
other " gorgons and chimeras dire ; " and even Dr. Bigelow, 
talking Greek in spite of himself, by lecturing about diagno- 
sis, prognosis, prophylactics,' anaesthetics, endemics, epidemics, 
and sporadics. Yet further, though physical science, in the 
intoxication of great success, has been somewhat encroaching 
and domineering of late, even logic and metaphysics are per- 
mitted at least to whisper of subsumptions, epicheiremas, sori- 
tes, and the quantification of predicates ; or of ontology, ente- 
lechy, noumena, apperception, teleology, and synthetic cognitions 
a priori. These, and ten thousand others like them, are not 
merely intelligible as simple appellatives or single words, with 
a sort of classical fragrance about them, but in their composite 
character they are concise definitions or descriptions, which 
stir the imagination and the memory, as well as the intellect 
proper. As quaint old Fuller says, to us "the joints of these 
compound words are so naturally oiled, that they run nimbly 
on the tongue, which makes them, though long, never tedious, 
because significant." But to those who have no tincture of 
classical learning, whether addressed to the ear or the eye, 
they are only sesquipedalian agglutinations of syllables, as lit- 
tle significant as abracadabra or Qhrononhotonthologos. 

Any one who should fancy that they are too numerous, cum- 
bersome, and pedantic, or that they might be replaced by pithy 
English words, may be assured that his education in any one 
science has not yet reached the pons asinorum. These for- 
midable polysyllables are " a kind of short-hand of the science, 

1 Dr. Asa Gray, Professor of Botany in Harvard College, and Dr. Bigelow's 
successor as President of the American Academy. 
2 



18 CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 

or algebraic notation ; " and without them, the investigator 
would be as helpless as an algebraist or chemist without his 
symbols, or an arithmetician without the Arabic numerals. In 
the last analysis, all science, whether physical or moral, is noth- 
ing but skilful classification ; and without a curiously com- 
pounded nomenclature and terminology, which can be built up 
only from Latin or Greek roots, classification would be but an- 
other name for confusion. And for this use, it does not matter 
much that most of us retain but a very dim memory of our 
studies at school and college ; as almost numberless compounds 
can be formed by ringing the changes on a very few elements, 
a mere smattering of the classical vocabulary, such as is kept 
up almost involuntarily by reading common English prose and 
poetry, suffices to interpret these scientific shibboleths. A very 
few prepositions often repeated, a small stock of adjectives, 
also frequently recurrent, and a moderate supply of the most 
familiar nouns are forged into the keys which unlock every 
coffer in the treasure-house. 

Intelligent companionship, appreciation, and sympathy, such 
as the scientific associations constituted like this Academy are 
enabled to afford, through the fact that all the sciences speak 
what may be called a common language, together with the 
secret consciousness of the far wider companionship and sym- 
pathy which is kept alive by finding this scientific vocabulary 
also common to nearly all civilized nations, though in ordinary 
discourse they use a babel of diverse tongues, furnish an al- 
most indispensable encouragement for persistent scientific effort 
and research. The greatest need of the savant at the present 
day, especially in the more recondite branches of inquiry, as it 
seems to me, is the need of an audience. He is in no danger 
of starving ; the age and the country have at least raised him 
above that peril. Books are always at hand, and even labora- 
tories and museums are frequent. But isolate him altogether 
in his work, cut off his readers and hearers, as Dr. Bigelow 
proposes to do, first by breaking up the comprehensive scheme 
of studies at college, where alone one comes to know a little 
of almost everything, and then by cutting up from the roots 
the common language of the learned, and you dishearten him 
altogether ; you reduce him first to silence, and finally to in- 
action. 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITAKIAN STUDIES. 19 

How important this community of scientific terms among 
all cultivated languages is to the savant, may be seen from 
the example of the only nation in Europe which seems to 
be under no necessity of building up its technicalities out of 
the dead languages. Alone among all modern tongues, the 
German fully rivals the Greek in its power of forming com- 
pounds without limit from native roots ; and it has used this 
power to a considerable extent, by employing such words as 
Sauerstoff, Wasserstoff, Kohlstoff, and Stickstoff, instead of ox- 
ygen, hydrogen, carbon, and nitrogen. But, convenient at 
home as such a vocabulary certainly is, and flattering to na- 
tional pride, it is found to place too great a bar upon their 
freedom of scientific intercourse with other nations ; and hence 
their list of such, terms has never been completed, and it is 
but in partial use even as far as it goes. So true is it what 
Homer says, as cited and applied to illustrate this very point 
both by Plato and Aristotle, that 

" By mutual confidence and mutual aid, 
Great deeds are done, and great discoveries made." 

Because the sciences in these modern times have been multi- 
plied and enlarged, and the arts increased, Dr. Bigelow argues 
that any liberal and comprehensive culture of mind, such as is 
attempted in our colleges through a course of general studies, 
has become impracticable. To adopt his own metaphor, as 
"the educational loaf on which the community is fed" has 
been so much enlarged, he will not allow to classical literature 
even a fragment of the crust. And further, because the di- 
vision of labor has been profitable in mechanical pursuits, he 
affirms that pupils cannot " undertake to make themselves 
competent representatives of all the various sciences, the lit- 
erary studies, the languages dead and living, which are now 
professedly taught in our colleges and seminaries." Of course 
they cannot ; but in view of that solidarity of the sciences, 
which, every day's progress is making more evident, the real 
question is, whether a student can become a " competent repre- 
sentative " of any one science, without that very general cult- 
ure of mind which is nowhere attempted but in college ; or 
whether any one scientific or literary pursuit would flourish 
and expand, if each were isolated, none but its special votaries 



20 CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 

having any acquaintance with it whatever, and these being 
doomed, like each class of artisans in a big workshop, to spend 
their lives intellectually in making the eighteenth part of a pin. 
Dr. Bigelow's scheme of a scientific education begins by de- 
priving the student of the common language of all the sci- 
ences, proceeds by leaving him without any scientific public, 
either at home or abroad, competent to hear and judge his 
work, and ends by requiring him to mount to the mast-head 
after he has taken away all the shrouds. Such a scheme might 
produce a chemist, though I doubt it ; but it certainly would 
not make even the eighteenth part of a man. And yet the 
Essayist complains of sciolism. Why, the worst sort of sciol- 
ism, and one with which we are peculiarly afflicted in this 
country, is, that men assume to be scientific chemists on an 
amount of general knowledge which would hardly qualify 
them to be decent apothecaries ; or prate about the most dif- 
ficult problems in geology, before they know enough of botany 
or zoology to pronounce on the character of a single fossil. 
Yet the starved and miserly training which breeds such pre- 
tenders we are now invited to substitute for the liberal and 
comprehensive culture, which aims to develop all the faculties, 
and thereby to u fit a man to perform justly, skilfully, and 
magnanimously all the offices, both private and public, of peace 
and war." 

I appeal to your own favorite science, Sir. What sort of a 
botanist is he, who knows nothing of physiology ; or how 
much physiology can he acquire, if he is not something of 
a chemist ; or what is chemistry, if not based on physics ; or 
can one become a physicist without a competent acquaintance 
with mathematics ; and how much time and labor must be 
spent on the very elements — the far-extended vocabulary and 
notation — of each of these sciences, by one whose total igno- 
rance of Latin and Greek obliges him to master them, as it 
were, mechanically and by main strength, just as he would 
commit to memory whole pages of a dictionary ? I suspect 
the first lesson you would assign him in botany would be the 
first six pages of the Latin Grammar, — to be taken on an 
empty stomach. 

Besides, in the argument we are now considering, it is for- 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 21 

gotten that a process of generalization, condensation, and elim- 
ination takes place, at least pari passu, generally in advance, 
of every step of progress in science. Often, indeed, the prog- 
ress consists in this process of " boiling down " the previous 
results ; one general law takes the place of a multitude of 
formerly isolated facts. Hence it is, as has been often re- 
marked, that an undergraduate in college may now easily ac- 
quire mathematical truths and formulas which Newton was 
ignorant of; he must know more astronomy than Copernicus 
did, and more physics than Galileo ; and he makes these at- 
tainments, too, with less than half the time and effort which 
it cost the contemporaries of those illustrious men to rise even 
to the level of their own day. And if we are to adopt the 
mode of estimating relative merit which the Essayist coolly 
applies to the ancients and moderns, acting on the maxim that 
a living dog is better than a dead lion, it follows that our 
school-boys are to be preferred over the great discoverers of 
truth, the teachers of the world. 

Dr. Bigelow affirms that " the world mainly owes its present 
advanced and civilized state to the influence of certain phys- 
ical discoveries and inventions, of comparatively recent date, 
among which are conspicuous the printing-press, the mariner's 
compass, the steam-engine," etc. And, in speaking of those 
great events which are usually considered as marking the ori- 
gin of modem civilization, namely, the Reformation, the exo- 
dus of Greeks from Constantinople, and the revival of letters, 
— two of these, be it observed, being only names for the re- 
vival of Classical Studies, especially of Greek, — he still as- 
serts, that " at the root of all these agencies, and deep and far 
beyond and above them, was the vivifying nurture of utilita- 
rian science." If so, it is somewhat remarkable that the effect 
preceded the cause by about a century, since the dawn of mod- 
ern utilitarian science cannot be placed earlier than the age of 
Bacon and Galileo, at the very close of the sixteenth century, 
when the three great agencies in question had been at work 
about a hundred years. 

But let this pass, as I would call attention only to the main 
doctrine here and elsewhere propounded by the Essayist, 
which, like Mr. Buckle's theory, makes civilization itself mainly 



22 CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 

consist in such things as gas-lights, steam-engines, sewing-ma- 
chines, photographs, and vulcanized India-rubber. I reject the 
definition altogether. Not what men have, but what they 
think and believe, or, rather, what they are, are at once the 
tokens of their culture and the sources of their strength. 
Turn a civilized community naked into a wilderness or a des- 
ert, and they will be a civilized community still ; and their 
hands, guided by their minds, will subdue that wilderness and 
turn that desert into a garden. The Athenians, in the age of 
Pericles, had not one of these soi-disant material and tangible 
means and agents of civilization ; but those Athenians, saving 
only their lack of one element, which originated in Palestine 
some four hundred years afterwards, were the most highly civ- 
ilized people the world has ever known ; and their works, their 
arts, their literature, their philosophy, have fed and colored, 
from within outwards, the civilization of all succeeding times. 
The men of that age and place are even now 

" the dead, but sceptred, sovrans, 
Who still rule our spirits from their urns." 

As Sir William Hamilton tells us, " every learner in science is 
now familiar with more truths than Aristotle or Plato ever 
dreamt of knowing ; yet, compared with the Stagirite or the 
Athenian, how few even of our masters of modern science rank 
any higher than intellectual barbarians ! " 

After all, have these recent physical discoveries and inven- 
tions contributed so largely, even to our material well-being, 
that we can fairly consider them as the glories of modern civil- 
ization ? Have most of them had any other effect than to feed 
man's vanity and nourish sterile wonder ? Take, for example, 
one of the most brilliant and striking of the whole number, and 
one to which abstruse science most largely contributed, — the 
discovery of Neptune. What matters it to you or me person- 
ally, or to any human being, or even to the other members of 
the solar system itself, that, on its outmost verge, some two 
thousand eight hundred millions of miles from us, and so 
hardly perceptible to the unaided vision as a faint dot in the 
evening skies, there is a planet called Neptune, of which we 
know nothing whatever, except that it is there, and that it 
circles steadily at a measurable rate round the sun ? I have 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 23 

heard a remark quoted from a queer little girl, who said she 
was afraid to ask her Sunday-school teacher, who Nimrod was, 
for fear he should tell her, and it would be so useless to know. 
So I am afraid to ask Professor Winlock, director of the Har- 
vard Observatory, if he has recently ascertained, through his 
big telescope, whether Neptune is still extant in his proper 
place, or whether he has seceded, — gone off, in a hyperbolic 
or parabolic curve, never to come back again. I am afraid to 
ask, lest he should tell me, and it would be so useless to know. 
Why, if Neptune himself should threaten such secession, I 
doubt not that the other planets, in solemn congress assembled, 
would say to him, " Erring brother, depart in peace ; it is a 
matter of profound indifference to us, whether you go or 
stay." 

And then the telegraph. For a year or two, we have all 
been shouting, at the top of our voices, " Great is the Atlantic 
telegraph, and Cyrus W. Field is its prophet ! " But here, 
again, we forget to ask what the thing is worth, in the great- 
ness of our astonishment that it should be done at all. Like 
the fly in amber, — 

" The thing itself is neither rich nor rare ; 
But wonder how the devil it got there." 

What has the Atlantic telegraph done for us ? It has given 
us news from Europe less than a day old, instead of the same 
news ten or twelve days old. But the intelligence does not 
lose its distinctive character as neivs, through the greater or 
less time occupied in its transmission. I never heard that 
news were like eggs, liable, if kept over ten days, to become 
addled. Let me not undervalue the good sometimes done by 
the telegraph. It has played an important, even an indispensa- 
ble, part in the apprehension of John H. Surratt. Once in a 
great while, it is a tolerable catchpole, an efficient subsidiary 
agent to the state's prison and the gallows. By its means, we 
now have Surratt safe in irons, and can bring him to fair trial ; 
though, at this late day, I suppose, very few persons care 
whether the miserable wretch is hanged or not. 1 

1 He was not hanged. On his trial as a supposed accomplice in the murder of 
President Lincoln, the jury virtually found that the offence was " not proven." 
Surratt was set free, and became an itinerant lecturer. 



24 CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 

Because the ancients had none of these things, — no tele- 
graphs, newspapers, chloroform, or lucifer-matches, — it is 
charged against them that their civilization was narrow and bar- 
ren, and, " in their domestic habits, they were primitive, des- 
titute, and uncleanly." This whole accusation may be summed 
up in the old sarcasm against the Emperor Augustus, that, 
" with all his splendor, he had no glass in his windows and not 
a shirt to his back." 

Here is the utilitarian idea of civilization ! It does not con- 
sist in the might of intellect, nor in the beauty of poetry, nor 
in the power of oratory, nor in the skill of statesmanship, nor 
in the graces of sculpture and architecture, nor in the wisdom 
of philosophy, nor in the depths of abstract science. No. 
Civilization — true, modern civilization — consists in none of 
these things ; for, in each and all of them, unluckily, the men 
of the Periclean and the Augustan age were undoubtedly our 
equals, if not our superiors. But civilization — the genuine 
modern article — consists in glass windows and linen shirts. 
As to the two assertions contained in this sarcasm against the 
Emperor, I may as well mention, in a parenthesis, that they are 
not more than half-true. Long before the time of Augustus, 
the Romans had glass enough to stock a modern fashionable 
apothecary's shop ; though they seem to have used it chiefly 
for bottling, not their medicines or their wines, but their tears. 
If they did not put it in their windows, it was probably for the 
same reason that half of the Italians at the present day do not 
put it there, — because the climate does not require it. I sus- 
pect glass windows are an indispensable condition of civiliza- 
tion only in high latitudes. As to the other alleged fact, if 
having a shirt means, as I suppose it does, wearing linen next 
the skin, it is singular enough that, within a few years, nearly 
all of us, for hygienic reasons, have discarded linen, and gone 
back to the old Augustan dress, — fine wool or silk next the 
skin. In the sense of this sarcasm, if it has any sense, I doubt 
whether a single gentleman here present has a shirt to his 
back. To the Union army, consisting of over a million of men 
at the close of the late war, I believe FalstafPs account of his 
own troop was applicable, — that there was but a shirt and a 
half in the whole company. 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 25 

Even if it be granted that the glory of modern times is its 
mechanical inventions, it may well be doubted whether the 
study of physical science, and the establishment of Technological 
Institutes, will lead to their multiplication or improvement. 
The fact is notorious, that most of these are the results of acci- 
dent, or have been made by unlearned men, chiefly by ingen- 
ious artisans. Even the disposition which seeks for them, and 
the course of experiments instituted for their attainment, are 
unfavorable to habits of scientific research ; for gold, not truth, 
is the object in view ; and though some general fact or law of 
nature may incidentally be developed, the mind was not on the 
watch for it, and it will probably be overlooked or forgotten. 
If you would train up inventors, educate your sons at the 
blacksmith's forge or the carpenter's bench, in watch-factories, 
cotton-mills, or machine-shops. These were the schools in 
which Arkwright, Watt, Stephenson, Paul Moody, Howe, 
Hobbs, McCormick, Edison, and Goodyear studied. Sir Hum- 
phrey Davy received great laudation for the safety lamp; 
but it is now known that he was anticipated in it, several 
years, by a sooty son of the mine, who, at the time, was hardly 
able to write his name. History has not even recorded the 
authorship or the date of some most useful contrivances and 
processes, and has left others in dispute; such as glass, the 
mariner's compass, gunpowder, and the printing-press; proba- 
bly because their inventors were ignorant and obscure men, 
who did not even know the worth of what they had accom- 
plished. The very process of invention is often blindly tenta- 
tive, and success in it is a mere accident, as in hunting for a 
needle in a hay-mow ; after you have sought it in vain for a 
week, there comes along a clown who thrusts his hand into 
the mow, and pricks his finger with it at the first trial. 

Science, it is true, has an office to perform ; but generally it 
is one which is subsequent to the invention, and which consists 
in explaining the rationale of the process, by pointing out the 
laws of nature through which the result was obtained. But 
even in this subsidiary function, it is often baffled and lags far 
behind inventive art. Why should caoutchouc and sulphur, 
moderately heated and rubbed together, produce that marvel- 
lous and most useful compound, vulcanized India-rubber ? The 



26 CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 

chemist does not know ; and he is equally ignorant in respect 
to many of the processes in metallurgy and pharmacy. Why 
is cinchona a potent febrifuge? Ask the Peruvian Indians, 
who first taught our doctors how to use it. 

These facts, if rightly weighed, do not discredit physical 
science, and certainly are not here cited for that purpose. But 
they do manifest the pitiable folly — I had almost said, the 
impiety — of measuring the value either of physics or meta- 
physics, chemistry or philology, by a low utilitarian standard ; 
of estimating our proper mental food by its casual and indirect 
/ results in fattening our bodies, or pampering our lower appe- 
tites and desires. In this Academy, at least, I dare assert that 
the ultimate object of scientific research is not any external 
good, but knowledge for the sake of knowing ; and let it be re- 
membered, in behalf of the classics, that this great truth has 
at least the verdict of all antiquity in its favor, though it is 
too often forgotten or slighted in this nineteenth century. It 
is only a corollary from this maxim, but one specially applica- 
ble to the subject of education, to say, that the mere effort to 
know is of more worth to the individual who makes it, than 
the knowledge acquired. The chief object of education, as it 
seems to me, is not to multiply inventions, but to develop the 
intellect and form the character. " The intellect," says Aris- 
totle, as cited by Hamilton, " is perfected not by knowledge, 
but by activity." But as Aristotle was an old Greek, whose 
authority will be disputed, I will rather cite one who is a mod- 
ern Aristotle, at least in the estimation of his admirers, — the 
great hierophant of Positive science, — Auguste Comte ; who 
tells us, that " les hommes ont encore plus besoin de mSthode 
que de doctrine, d' "education que d 'instruction " [men stand 
much more in need of the method, than of the matter, of 
learning, — of education, or the means of drawing something 
out of the mind, than of instruction, or the means of putting 
something into it] . Or take the same meaning in Greek, in 
which form I well know it "will best please the Essayist; ov 

^lAocro^ia, aAAa <f>i\ocro(f>eLV. 

Every generation of civilized men inherits the intellectual 
wealth, the mechanical contrivances and the useful arts, of all 
the ages and the nations which have preceded it ; but the nafr 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 27 

ural wonder and self-complacency with which men view their 
own achievements, often prevent them from estimating fairly 
the extent of their patrimony. When the Essayist shouts and 
claps his hands at the feats of modern science, he may be re- 
minded of the witty reply made by the elder Astor, of New 
York, who, when mildly reproved for not contributing so 
largely to some public object as his own son had done, 
answered, " That is not a fair example ; he has a rich father." 
Scholars will not admit that the attainments of the Greeks 
and Romans in practical science and art were inconsiderable, 
or that their every-day life was meagre, uncleanly, or comfort- 
less. We still teach in our schools and colleges, essentially in 
its original form, the geometry of Euclid and Archimedes, and 
the fundamental principles of mechanics, hydrostatics, and 
optics, as originally expounded by them. The discovery of 
the principle of specific gravity by the latter, and its applica- 
tion by him in determining the amount of alloy in base 
metals, was perhaps the most important single step that was 
ever taken in physical science ; while his writings, and his 
noted exclamation, that he would move the universe if he 
could find a fulcrum, show how clearly he understood the me- 
chanical powers. His defence of Syracuse for three years, 
against the legions of Marcellus, was as marvellous a display 
of the resources of physical science and mechanical ingenuity 
in war, as the modern sieges of Sebastopol and Charleston ; 
and his affecting exclamation when the Roman sword had 
already reached his neck, "Do not efface my diagrams," places 
his name at the head of the list of the illustrious martyrs of 
science. Eratosthenes measured the obliquity of the ecliptic, 
and a degree on one of the earth's meridians, with an astonish- 
ing approach to accuracy, thereby virtually determining the 
circumference of the globe, though he had hardly any better 
instrument than a sun-dial. Hipparchus detected the preces- 
sion of the equinoxes, worked out the doctrine of the sphere, 
and the first ideas of plane and spherical trigonometry, noticed 
the parallax of the sun and moon, calculated lunar and solar 
tables, and predicted eclipses with great accuracy, and by a 
method which is still in use in the higher mathematics, and of 
which Whewell says, that it is " not only good, but, in many 



28 CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 

cases, no better has yet been discovered." Strabo and Ptol- 
emy are still high authorities in geography, the latter having 
determined the mathematical principles of projection, and 
constructed maps, charts, and almanacs with great correctness. 
Hippocrates and Galen are still quoted as in high repute among 
medical writers, and whole cases of surgical instruments have 
been found at Pompeii. The Julian correction of the calendar 
was not perfect ; but England had no better till the reign of 
George II. 

In further support of the conclusion which I seek to estab- 
lish, I will cite an authority that Dr. Bigelow will surely 
respect, as it is that of the arch-utilitarian of our times, the 
acknowledged chief of the clan, and confessedly one of the 
greatest thinkers, as well as one of the great scholars, of 
our day ; I mean John S. Mill. Speaking of the Greeks, he 
says : " They were the beginners of nearly everything, Chris- 
tianity excepted, of which the modern world makes its boast. 
They were the first people who had a historical literature, as 
perfect of its kind (though not the highest kind) as their ora- 
tory, their poetry, their sculpture, their architecture. They 
were the founders of mathematics, of physics, of the inductive 
study of politics, so early exemplified in Aristotle, of the phi- 
losophy of human nature and life. These things were effected 
in two centuries of national existence ; twenty, and upwards, 
have since elapsed, and it is sad to think how little, compara- 
tively, has been accomplished" 

As early as the time of the Kings, Rome seems to have been 
as thoroughly drained by common sewers, of marvellous size 
and solidity of workmanship, as the best of our modern cities. 
Before the age of the Emperors, its magnificent aqueducts, 
some of them still in use, gave it a better supply of pure water 
than any modern city had thirty years ago, and better than 
London has now ; while the number and magnificence of its 
public baths indicate that its inhabitants highly prized the vir- 
tue of cleanliness. Their roads were so skilfully and solidly 
constructed, that, after being two thousand years in use, their 
remains still challenge the admiration of modern engineers. 
Their masonry and brick-work are equal, if not superior, to 
the best constructions of our own day. The arts of agricult- 



CLASSICAL AND UTILITARIAN STUDIES. 29 

ure, ship-building, tanning, and metallurgy were highly de- 
veloped among them, and they furnished the models of some of 
our most graceful forms of parlor furniture. Indeed, to one 
who has strolled through the streets and buildings of Pompeii, 
and inspected the collections in the Royal Museum at Naples, 
where the kitchen utensils and contents of the shops of this 
disinterred city have been brought together, or visited the re- 
mains of the magnificent villas that once studded the coast 
around Baise and Cape Misenum, the assertion, that the an- 
cients had made little progress in the useful arts, and that, in 
their " domestic habits, they were primitive, destitute, and un- 
cleanly," will appear equally amusing and extravagant. If it 
be answered that these comforts and luxuries, after all, be- 
longed only to the privileged few, and afford little indication 
of the number and welfare of the bulk of the people, I reply 
by pointing to the number and condition of those who are em- 
phatically called the " dangerous classes " in London, Liver- 
pool, Glasgow, and New York ; to the dens of filth and wretched- 
ness which they inhabit, and to the social state of three-fourths 
of the Irish people ; and ask, if your boastful modern civiliza- 
tion has much reason to plume itself on the comparison ? 

I have occupied, Sir, too much of the Academy's time, and 
far more than would have been necessary, if the question had 
concerned only the relative merits of ancient and modern lit- 
erature and science. My object has been to plead the cause not 
merely of "classical," but of "liberal studies," — of that 
broad and generous culture of all the faculties, which is no- 
where even attempted save in our colleges and universities, 
and of which Latin and Greek form a large and necessary part, 
but by no means the whole. Dr. Bigelow's argument seemed 
to me directed not merely against classical, but against all 
literature ; against, not merely the moral and abstruse sciences, 
but all science whatever, which does not directly promote 
man's outward comfort and material well-being ; against not 
this or that special scheme of education, but any comprehen- 
sive course of general studies. But in view of some of the 
ominous tendencies of the age, which are nowhere so fully and 
darkly developed as in our own land ; in view of these mate- 
rialistic and fatalistic doctrines, which seem already the most 



30 ABUSE OF THE STUDY OF GRAMMAR. 

popular among students in most departments of natural his- 
tory and physical science; in view of the accursed thirst for 
gold, and the frenzied passion for luxury and ostentation, 
which are debasing the morals of industry and commerce, and 
corrupting the tone of our politics, till many have come almost 
to despair of the republic ; in view of the ignominy of some 
of our large municipal governments, and the want of either 
character or ability in our Congress, — it seems to me, that he 
who attacks the cause of liberal education, and thereby so far 
tries to lessen the number, diminish the influence, and benumb 
the powers of that class of independent, educated, and thought- 
ful men, who alone are competent, humanly speaking, to resist 
these debasing tendencies and uphold the cause of integrity, 
learning, and truth, is, in fact, though unwittingly, striking a 
death-blow against the chief agencies and supports of Ameri- 
can civilization. 



APPENDIX 



THE ABUSE OF THE STUDY OF GRAMMAR. 



If a tolerable proficiency in Latin and Greek could be ac- 
quired only by devoting eight or ten wearisome months exclu- 
sively to studying the grammar of each of these languages, I 
should not have a word to say in defence of classical learning. 
Such an employment of time appears to me not only injudi- 
cious and unnecessary, but almost sinful. It seems of late to 
have been forgotten among us, that grammar, at best, is only a 
subsidiary science, a knowledge of it being valuable not for its 
own sake, but as a key to the meaning and structure of sen- 
tences, and thereby a necessary introduction to literature. 
Formerly, we studied grammar in order to read the classics ; 
nowadays, the classics seem to be studied only as a means of 
learning grammar. Surely a more effectual means could not 
have been invented of rendering the pupil insensible to the 
beauties of the ancient poets, orators, and historians, of in- 
spiring disgust alike with Homer and Virgil, Xenophon and 



ABUSE OF THE STUDY OF GRAMMAR. 31 

Tacitus, than to make their words mere pegs on which to hang 
long disquisitions on the latest refinements in philology, and 
elaborate attempts to systematize euphonic changes and other 
free developments of stems and roots. The Germans have 
corrupted philology as well as philosophy by their ponderous 
| metaphysics ; and their latest theories and technicalities have 
been imported into our school grammars, an acquaintance with 
them being made a condition precedent to admission to college. 
One is painfully reminded of what Jovius (Giovio) said of 
Politian, some four hundred years ago, after the appointment 
of the latter to a professorship of Latin and Greek at Florence : 
" Hitherto I have listened to grammarians and critics from 
that chair ; but the Muses have at last taken pity on our gram- 
mar-beladen ears, and sent us one who can feel the sentiment 
of Virgil and Homer, as well as explain their syntax." A 
foreigner would make slow progress in learning to read En- 
glish, if he should begin with Home Tooke's " Diversions of 
Purley " as a text-book. Yet our grammars have swelled to 
their present inordinate size in order to include much which 
perfectly resembles the speculations of Home Tooke, except 
that they have not the faintest claim to be regarded as " Diver- 
sions." Andrews and Stoddard's Latin Grammar covers about 
four hundred closely-printed pages, in type so fine as to be in- 
jurious to the eyesight ; Hadley's or Crosby's Greek Grammar 
contains nearly as much. Instructors complain, and with some 
reason, that the candidates whom they offer for admission to 
college are liable to be conditioned, as the phrase is, or declared 
to be insufficiently instructed in grammar, to the great injury 
of their teacher's reputation, if they have not committed to 
memory, and been thoroughly drilled in explaining and apply- 
ing, every paragraph of this vast collection of grammatical 
theories and niceties. 

Over forty years ago, a small abridgment of Mr. Edward 
Everett's translation of Buttmann's Greek Grammar, compris- 
ing, to the best of my recollection, not more than one hundred 
and eighty openly-printed pages, was accepted as a sufficient 
qualification for admission to the freshman class ; and the 
amount of Latin Grammar required was proportionately small. 
Yet, at that period, the quantity of Latin and Greek studied 



32 ABUSE OF THE STUDY OF GRAMMAR. 

by undergraduates was at least one third more than what is 
now required of them. That this amount was not, in one 
sense, so well studied then as now, — that is, that the student 
did not acquire so much minute philological information, — 
may be readily admitted. But in the ability, at the time of 
graduation, to read and enjoy the Latin and Greek authors, , he 
was considerably in advance, as I believe, of our recent gradu- 
ates. He had command of a larger vocabulary, had profited 
by more experience in disentangling difficult constructions, had 
stored his memory with a larger number of pithy phrases, 
gnomic sentences, and scraps of verse, and had been less in- 
jured by the indiscriminate use of translations. Classical 
learning seems to me to have steadily declined in this country 
of late years, in respect both to the number of its votaries and 
to its estimation with the public at large, just in proportion as 
its professors and teachers have diminished the time and effort 
bestowed on reading the classics, in order to enforce more mi- 
nute attention to the mysteries of Greek accentuation and the 
metaphysics of the subjunctive mood. He will do most to re- 
vive it who shall be the first to publish, in a volume of not 
more than three hundred openly-printed pages, all the gram- 
matical forms and principles, both of the Latin and Greek lan- 
guages, which are required to qualify a candidate for admission 
to college, and which will suffice even for the undergraduate 
studies of nine tenths of the students. Those who are ambi- 
tious to become Scaligers, Bentleys, or Porsons, may study the 
whole of Andrews and Stoddard, or of Zumpt, Kriiger, and 
Buttmann. 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

PRESENTED TO THE SENATE OF THE UNITED STATES IN APRIL, 1877. 1 

Unable to accept the conclusions at which a majority of the 
Commission have arrived, the undersigned respectfully submits 
what follows as a Minority Report : — 

From the tables showing the monthly fluctuations in the 
London market price of English standard silver (925 thou- 
sandths fine) per ounce, it appears that, during a period of forty- 
one years, from January, 1833, to January, 1874, this price 
oscillated around 60c?. per ounce, never falling below 58£d., 
and never rising to 63<i. Assuming the average price to have 

1 The Congress of the United States passed the following concurrent resolu- 
tion on the 15th of August, 1876 : — 

" Resolved, by the Senate and House of Representatives, That a Commission is 
hereby authorized and constituted, to consist of three Senators, to be appointed 
by the Senate ; three members of the House of Representatives, to be appointed 
by the Speaker ; and experts, not exceeding thi-ee in number, to be selected by 
and associated with them ; with authority to determine the time and place of 
meeting, and to take evidence ; and whose duty it shall be to inquire — 

" First, Into the change which has taken place in the relative value of gold and 
silver ; the causes thereof, whether permanent or otherwise ; the effects thereof 
upon trade, commerce, finance, and the productive interests of the country, and 
upon the standard of value in this, and foreign countries. 

"Secondly, Into the policy of the restoration of the double standard in this 
country ; and, if restored, what the legal relation between the two metals, silver 
and gold, should be. 

" Thirdly, Into the policy of continuing legal tender notes concurrently with 
the metallic standards, and the effects thereof upon the labor, industries, and 
wealth of the country ; and 

" Fourthly, Into the best means for facilitating the resumption of specie pay- 
ments." 

The Commission were required to make report to Congress at an early day, 
"with the evidence taken by them, and such recommendations for legislation as 
they may deem proper." 

The members of the Commission appointed on the part of the Senate were, Mr. 
Jones, of Nevada ; Mr. Boutwell, of Massachusetts ; and Mr. Bogy, of Missouri. 

Those on the part of the House of Representatives were, Mr. Gibson, of Louisi- 
3 



34 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

been 60c?., we find the ratio of value between silver and gold 
to have been as 1 to 15. 7. 1 In 1874, the price of silver began 
to fall, though the decline did not become considerable till 
May, 1875, from which time, though with some fluctuations, 
the depreciation rapidly increased, till in July, 1876, the price 
touched 47c?., being a fall of twenty-one per cent., the ratio 
being then as 1 to 20. After July, the price advanced again, 
till in December, 1876, it was about as high as at the beginning 
of the year. 2 

Are these great and sudden changes in the relative value of 
the two precious metals attributable to a fluctuation in the 
value of silver, or in that of gold, or partly in both ? This is 
the first question which it is the duty of the present Commission 
to consider. 

In the opinion of the undersigned, formed after a careful ex- 
amination of the evidence presented to this Commission, and 
to the select committee of the English House of Commons on 
the same subject, which made its report through Mr. Goschen 
last July, these changes must be attributed exclusively to a 

ana ; Mr. Bland, of Missouri ; and Mr. Willard, of Michigan. Those who were 
appointed to serve upon the Commission as " experts " were Mr. W. S. Groes- 
beck, of Ohio, and F. Bowen, of Massachusetts. 

Frequent meetings of this Commission were held in the city of New York 
throughout October and November, 1876, at which many witnesses were examined 
and a great body of evidence was collected. It soon became evident that a large 
majority of the members were in favor of attempting to restore what is called the 
double standard of value, and of making the obsolete silver dollar again a legal 
tender for the payment of debts, though it had been expressly demonetized by the 
Revised Statutes of 1874. The inevitable result of these measures, as it seemed 
to me, would be a breach of the public faith and a depreciation of the currency 
equal to the decline in the market value of silver bullion. Hence my labor was 
confined chiefly to the preparation of this " Minority Report." I expected to be 
in a minority of one, and was therefore agreeably surprised to learn that, before 
it had been presented to Congress, it was adopted and signed by another member 
of the Commission, Mr. R. L. Gibson, now Senator of the United States from 
Louisiana. 

1 An ounce of English standard silver contains- 444 grains of the pure metal ; 
and a sovereign contains almost exactly 113 grains of pure gold. Then 60<f., or 
one fourth of a sovereign, contains 28.25 grains of pure gold, and the ratio of value 
between the two metals is as 28.25 to 444, or as 1 to 15.716 -j— 

2 After January, 1877, the price rapidly receded again to 50c?., and of late it 
has oscillated around 52c?. Instead of being a standard for the measure of values, 
I doubt whether any of the principal articles of international trade, during the last 
five years, has fluctuated in price so much or so suddenly as silver. 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 35 

depreciation of silver, the fluctuations being such only as often 
accompany, at the outset, any considerable rise or fall in the 
market price of a single commodity, before the reality and the 
precise amount of the alteration are definitely established. 

Speaking generally, the value of anything is its purchasing 
power, or, in other words, its ratio of exchangeableness with 
other commodities. Whenever gold is the only standard, the 
average prices of commodities in general, after allowing for 
special causes of fluctuation in particular cases, indicate with 
sufficient precision the average value of gold. In fact, they do 
not merely indicate ; they are that value. If there has been 
no recent panic in the market, no special cause of general de- 
pression of trade, a general fall of prices expresses a rise in the 
value of gold ; and, conversely, if a fever of speculation has 
not for a time unduly stimulated the market, a general advance 
of prices is a fall in the value of gold. Now, during the four- 
teen months ending July, 1876, there was no general fall of 
prices in the London market, corresponding to the great depre- 
ciation which then took place in the price of silver. In July, 
1876, an ounce of standard silver would not purchase, either 
in London or New York, by about seventeen per cent., so large 
a share of commodities generally as could have been obtained for 
it fourteen months before. But gold had not risen. An ounce 
of standard gold could have been exchanged for very little, if 
any, more of other commodities generally, excepting silver, 
than in May, 1875. Even if general prices were somewhat 
depressed during these fourteen months, they certainly did not 
then immediately undergo a far more rapid change in the op- 
posite direction, reaching their former level in December, 1876. 
In all its essential features, the fluctuation in the price of silver 
was an isolated phenomenon, having nothing corresponding to 
it in the general course of trade. 

If we look at the circumstances affecting the relative demand 
and supply in the case of the two precious metals, we shall arrive 
at the same conclusion. During the last quarter of a century, 
the annual product of gold from the placers and mines has been 
so much in excess of the demand as to render it exceedingly 
probable that the value of that metal has been steadily, though 
slowly, falling, and that this decline is not even yet arrested. 



36 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

It is matter of the commonest observation, that the necessary- 
expenses of living and maintaining a family have been con- 
stantly on the increase since 1851 ; the prices of commodities 
generally, reckoned in gold, have risen very considerably, both 
in Europe and America. No one expects that they will recede 
again to what was their level before the discoveries of gold in 
California and Australia. The total annual product of gold in 
the world had risen from about twenty-seven millions of dollars 
in 1849, to an average of more than one hundred and five mil- 
lions for the five years beginning with 1850, and to one hundred 
and thirty-six millions as the average for the next five years end- 
ing with 1859. 1 What was the consequence of this enormous 
increase of the supply ? 

From the price-lists of the " Economist" newspaper, and from 
other sources, Professor Jevons, in his work on the Fall of Gold, 
published in 1863, compiled tables of the monthly prices of 
thirty-nine of those chief articles of commerce which may prop- 
erly be regarded as necessaries of civilized life, and thus ascer- 
tained the average annual price of each of them for the whole 
period from 1845 to 1862, both inclusive. He thus proved that 
their prices had, " on an average, risen between 1845-1850 and 
1860-1862 in the ratio of 100 to 116.2, which is equivalent to 
a depreciation of gold in the ratio 100 to 86, or by fourteen per 
cent." He then took seventy-nine minor commodities, less gen- 
erally in use, the prices of which advance more slowly, since, as 
they are chiefly articles of luxury, an enhanced price diminishes 
their consumption : and taking the average of the whole one hun- 
dred and eighteen articles, the rise of prices, comparing the same 
two periods, was " found to be in the ratio 100 to 110.25, cor- 
responding to a depreciation of gold in the ratio of 100 to 90.70, 
or by about nine and one third per cent." He adds as the 
final result, " the lowest estimate of the fall that I arrive at is 
nine per cent., and I shall be satisfied if my readers accept this. 
At the same time, in my own opinion, the fall is nearer fifteen 
per cent." 

Is there any good reason to believe that this fall in the value 
of gold has stopped, or has been materially retarded, since 
1862 ? I think not. 

1 Authorities cited in Goschen's parliamentary report on the Depreciation of 
Silver. 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 37 

Taking the three periods of five years each which elapsed 
between 1859-1874, we find the average annual product of gold 
throughout the world in each of them to be respectively, using 
the nearest round numbers, one hundred and two millions, one 
hundred and three millions, and one hundred millions of dollars. 
In 1875, the same authority puts the product for the year at 
one hundred and one millions of dollars. There is nothing in 
these figures which would lead us to suppose that the fall was 
much impeded ; certainly it could not have changed to a rise. 
Again, while over three hundred and ten millions of pounds 
sterling were added to the stock of gold in the world during 
the fourteen years 1849-1862, during the thirteen subsequent 
years, up to the end of 1875, there was a further addition to 
this stock amounting to two hundred and sixty-three millions 
of pounds sterling. We are justified, then, in concluding that 
a rise in the value of gold during the latter period was impos- 
sible. 1 

While the fall of gold has been so slow and gradual as to be 
with difficulty detected, except when we regard its aggregate 
result after the lapse of a number of years, the depreciation of 
silver has been sudden and very great. It took place, as we 

1 According to the statistics collected by Mr. Robert Giffen, and published by 
the Statistical Society of London, in March, 1879, it appears that during the period 
between 1850 and 1873, the average prices in England of twenty-two staple com- 
modities were generally enhanced, though with several fluctuations, in the ratio of 
2200 to 2947, thus indicating a fall of nearly one third in the value of gold. But 
after the panic of 1873, the prices of the same commodities rapidly receded again, 
and on January 1, 1879, they were only a trifle above their average during the pe- 
riod 1845-1 850. Does this fact prove that the value of gold has not fallen, but only 
fluctuated, during the last thirty years 1 By no means. The circumstances were 
exceptional during this last period of six years preceding January, 1879. The 
panic of 1873 was a disastrous one in its ultimate effects, not only for America, 
but for the whole commercial world. Goods in the hands of bankrupt merchants 
had to be disposed of at any sacrifice. Rents and wages fell, and consumption 
was diminished, under the pressure of forced economy. Then, too, during these 
same years, a series of notable improvements and inventions, under the stimulus 
of necessity, cheapened the processes of manufacture and diminished the cost of 
transportation both by land and sea. And during the year preceding July, 1880, 
as we all know, there has been a marked recovery in the prices of staple com- 
modities, which now seem likely to approximate very nearly what was their aver- 
age before the occurrence of the great panic. On the whole, I cannot doubt that 
the value of gold during the last thirty years has fallen at least twenty-five per 
cent. 



38 A MINOKITY KEPOKT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

have seen, in less than two years, and it amounted to twenty 
per cent. Its causes are easily discovered. Chiefly through 
the discovery and the rapid development of the silver mines in 
the United States, there was a sudden and immense increase of 
the supply ; and that was soon followed by an independent but 
considerable diminution of the demand. These two causes 
united created something like a panic, and several of the gov- 
ernments of Europe made haste to get rid, so far as was possi- 
ble, of a commodity which, as it seemed, must rapidly decline 
in value, and to preserve their standard of value by demone- 
tizing silver. Their action, of course, only enhanced for others 
the evil against which it was intended to guard themselves. 
The stock of silver no longer needed for use as money in Ger- 
many, or for additional coinage by the states constituting the 
Latin Monetary Union, was thrown upon the market, where 
it operated to increase and accelerate the decline which had 
previously become inevitable. 

The Comstock lode has been for our own times what Potosi 
was for the sixteenth century, though its effects have been de- 
veloped much more rapidly. 

The great increase in the supply of the precious metals from 
America, which took place during the latter half of the six- 
teenth century, was mainly owing to the discovery of the mines 
of Potosi, which were first systematically worked in 1545. Be- 
fore that year, as we learn from Humboldt, the annual product 
of both the precious metals from America was only about three 
millions of dollars. Before 1600, Potosi had nearly quadrupled 
this amount, having raised it to eleven millions ; and the con- 
sequence was, within a quarter of a century, that silver fell to 
about one third of its former value. Before 1570, a quarter 
(eight bushels) of wheat of middle quality was sold in Eng- 
land, on an average of a long period of years, for about two 
ounces of pure silver ; about 1600, (still taking an average of 
many years, so that the exceptionally good and exceptionally 
bad crops may offset each other,) the price had advanced to a 
little over six ounces, a point from which it has not receded 
from that day to this. 

Now pass over about three centuries, and we come to the 
effect produced by the Comstock lode in our own day. The 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 39 

product of the Nevada mines first became considerable in 1861, 
when the amount of silver raised, according to Dr. Linderman, 
the Director of the Mint, was about two millions of dollars. 
It rose rapidly till 1864, in which year the total product of 
silver in the United States, according to the same authority, 
was about eleven millions. In 1870, the annual product be- 
came sixteen millions, and then rapidly bounded upward, till, 
in 1875, it had become thirty-two millions. During the last 
year, 1876, it was probably near forty millions. Combining 
this product from the United States with that obtained from 
other sources throughout the world, we find that, up to 1861, 
the total annual yield of silver had been very steady, for about 
ten years, at a little over forty millions of dollars, and that it 
rapidly increased from that date till 1875, in which year it 
became double its former amount, or almost exactly eighty 
millions. 

In itself alone, this increase, though vast, might not seri- 
ously have affected the market for some years to come, since 
changes affecting the value of either of the precious metals 
are usually produced with great slowness, much time being 
required for equalizing prices throughout the world. During 
this intervening time, large quantities of the metal are, as it 
were, in transitu, or wandering about the world in search of 
the best market. But at about the same time with this rapid 
increase of supply, the demand for silver to be exported to 
British India suddenly fell off. During the four years 1862- 
1866, cotton was largely exported from India, and it was paid 
for by heavy remittances in silver, which is the money of that 
country. Within those four years, India absorbed silver to 
the enormous amount of two hundred and seventy millions of 
dollars, this being the excess of the imports over the exports 
of that metal. Of course, when American cotton came again 
into the market after the close of the war, the price of India 
cotton rapidly fell off; it was no longer exported in large 
quantities, and the drain of silver for its purchase ceased. 
But another cause then came into operation, which prevented 
this drain from being at once and entirely checked. English 
capital was needed in large amounts to aid the construction of 
Indian railways, canals, and other costly public works ; and 



40 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

the remittances on this account kept up the excess of the im- 
ports of silver over the exports, for another period of four 
years, to the average amount of thirty-five millions of dollars 
annually. At the end of this second period, the construction 
of these works practically came to an end, and the drain of 
silver, so far as this cause was concerned, not only ceased, 
but was turned the other way. India was then, and still is, 
heavily in debt to England for these supplies of capital ; and 
the remittances home for interest and dividends became so 
large that India had but little to receive in merchandise or 
silver. The effect was, in 1870-1871, that the demand for silver 
to be sent to India suddenly fell off to less than five millions 
of dollars ; and though it partially recovered the next year, 
the average for the last four years, ending in 1875, has been 
only about ten millions annually, against an average of sixty- 
seven millions a year during the four years of the American 
war, and of thirty-five millions a year for the four years follow- 
ing the close of that war. As it is improbable that the debt of 
India to England will be sensibly diminished for many years 
to come, it cannot be expected that the drain of silver to the 
East will be resumed to anything like its former extent within 
the lifetime of the present generation. 

The general result is, that, within the last fifteen years, the 
Comstock lode has added to the world's annual supply of silver 
about forty millions of dollars ; and the demand for that metal, 
to be exported to India, has fallen off, on an average, almost 
precisely to the same extent. No wonder, then, that the depre- 
ciation of silver should have been as sudden and great as that 
which we have witnessed, or that the principal states of Europe 
should have made haste to get rid, as far as possible, of their 
large stocks of this metal, and to substitute gold for silver as 
their standard of value. In the opinion of the undersigned, it 
will be wise for the United States, as far as may be, to follow 
their example. 

England has had no occasion to change her action or her 
policy. Sixty years ago she adopted gold as her only stand- 
ard of value, and demonetized silver, which has ever since been 
used in that country solely for purposes of small change, and is 
legal tender to the amount only of forty shillings. The quan- 



***^. 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 41 

tity of silver in circulation being strictly limited, and being 
intentionally overvalued from the outset about six per cent., 
any depreciation of its value in the market does not at all im- 
pair its usefulness as subsidiary currency. Foreign silver coins 
cannot enter into circulation ; but, if introduced into the coun- 
try, can only be sold by weight at their bullion value. The 
consequence is, that English gold coins are now more generally 
received at their full value in all the markets of the world than 
any form of money, and are a generally recognized medium for 
the settlement of international balances. 

In order to secure the advantages of this English system, and 
to avoid the heavy loss which seemed impending over her cur- 
rency through the depreciation of silver, Germany took the 
first step toward the abandonment of her silver standard by 
a law passed in December, 1871. 

The mark was then established as the unit of value, and the 
gold coins to be issued of the denominations of twenty and ten 
marks were made legal tender. The value of the twenty-mark 
piece being made only fivepence less than that of the English 
sovereign, and threepence less than that of twenty-five francs, 
the new coins became easily interchangeable with the gold cur- 
rency both of France and England. Power was also given for 
withdrawing silver coins, and the coinage of large silver pieces 
was stopped. The next step was taken in July, lb73, by a 
law which caused this imperial gold currency to take the place 
of the various currencies previously in use in the separate 
states of Germany, and established a subsidiary silver coinage, 
issued at a little more than eleven per cent, below its nominal 
value, and made legal tender to an amount not exceeding 
twenty marks; but to avoid any inconvenience which might 
arise from too large an issue of the subsidiary silver coins, they 
were made receivable by the imperial and state treasuries up 
to any amount. The old silver coins were but slowly with- 
drawn, the one-thaler piece being continued in use up to the 
present year. All bank-notes were withdrawn which were not 
made payable in imperial currency, and none can remain in cir- 
culation, or be issued in future, of a lower denomination than 
one hundred marks, or about five pounds sterling. This was 
an important feature of the law, as bank-notes had previously 



42 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

been issued of as low a denomination as one thaler ; and the 
withdrawal of all of them- below five pounds must greatly in- 
crease the use of coin in small transactions. Under these laws, 
up to June last, new gold coins had been struck to the amount 
of seventy millions of pounds sterling. Of the old silver with- 
drawn, and not replaced by the new silver coinage, up to the 
20th of April last, sales had been made to the extent only of 
about six millions sterling, which is too small an amount to have 
had much direct influence on the depreciation of silver before 
that date. It is probable, however, that a much larger quan- 
tity remains to be melted down and sold, though even an ap- 
proximate calculation of its amount is stated by the German 
authorities themselves to be impossible. 

Most of the other countries of Europe, excepting those 
which have in use a depreciated paper currency, have imi- 
tated the example thus set, through preventing the further 
coinage of silver except for purposes of small change, and thus 
limiting the amount of it in circulation. None have gone so 
far, however, in this respect as Germany ; but they have only 
done enough to prevent the influx of the now cheapened silver 
from driving gold out of circulation, and thereby depreciating 
their standard of value. Denmark, Norway, and Sweden vir- 
tually adopted the gold standard in 1872-1873, and have since 
largely imported gold, and have sold silver amounting to over 
ten millions of dollars. Holland for some time pursued a vacil- 
lating policy, though attempts to alter her laws respecting 
coinage were made as early as October, 1872. But at last, in 
June, 1875, her parliament passed an act prohibiting the coin- 
age of silver indefinitely, and allowing the coinage of gold. 
Under this law, a gold ten-florin piece has been struck ; and 
during the next nine months, fifty-six millions of florins in 
gold were issued, and have taken the place of an equivalent 
amount of silver, which has been discharged from circulation. 
France and the other states (Belgium, Switzerland, Italy, and 
Greece) constituting the Latin Monetary Union, have adopted 
an expectant policy, merely restricting within narrow limits 
the further coinage of silver ; though the French minister of 
finance recently proposed a law authorizing the government to 
prohibit entirely the use of any more silver five-franc pieces. 



A MINOEITY EEPOET ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 43 

France, which had previously been almost drained of silver, first 
through purchasing cotton from India during the American 
war, and next by the payment of the German indemnity, has 
replenished her stock of that metal through the natural laws 
of trade, without any special legislation, but merely by con- 
tracting her paper currency, which for a time took the place of 
the exported silver money. She is probably deterred from 
adopting exclusively a gold standard, through her apprehension 
of the effect which would be produced in lowering the price of 
silver by throwing, her large stock of it upon the market, in 
which case, the cost of filling up the circulation with gold 
would be very considerable. 

As already remarked, this action of the European govern- 
ments in partially discarding silver from circulation as money 
has tended in two ways to increase the depreciation in value 
of that metal ; first, by throwing large quantities of it upon 
the already burdened bullion market, and secondly, by narrow- 
ing the field for its employment, and thereby lessening the 
demand. But to suppose that its depression in price originated 
in their action on the currency, and is entirely attributable to 
the measures which they adopted, would be to invert the rela- 
tion of cause and effect. Rather its previous fall in value, and 
apprehended further decline, caused them suddenly to demone- 
tize it, as otherwise their general and nearly simultaneous ac- 
tion in regard to it would have been arbitrary and motiveless. 
There is no conceivable reason why they should all, within a 
brief period, have made haste to get rid of silver, if it had not 
appeared to them to be already rapidly sinking in value while 
on their hands. 

We have next to consider whether the causes which have 
produced the recent changes in the relative value of gold and 
silver are " permanent or otherwise." The question herein 
indicated does not admit at present of a determinate answer. 
We may form a somewhat loose estimate of the probabilities 
affecting the immediate future, perhaps for the next six or 
eight years ; but if we attempt to look farther, or to arrive at 
more definite results, events as unexpected and as vast in their 
influence as the gold discoveries in California and Australia, or 
as the finding of silver ore in the Comstock lode, may falsify 



44 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

all our calculations. Of all human industries, mining the pre- 
cious metals is the most precarious and uncertain. Legislation 
which is to affect interests and industries so large and compli- 
cated as those which depend upon the state of the currency in 
the United States, and upon the preservation of the standard 
of value, cannot be safely based upon vague estimates, or upon 
the interested statements and valuations made by large holders 
of stock in silver mines ; but explorations recently made upon 
the spot by the Director of the United States Mint, by Prof. 
R. E. Rogers, and other eminent geologists and mineralogists, 
and by mining engineers, leave little doubt that the quantity of 
silver ore already partially exposed to view and measurement 
in the Comstock lode is enough to keep up the average product 
of that metal at least to its present amount for some years to 
come. 1 It is not probable, then, that the supply will soon fall 
off, and there are no indications that the demand for the em- 
ployment of silver, either in the arts, for monetary purposes, 
or for exportation to the East, will again become as extensive 
within the next five years as it was five years ago. On the 
contrary, the evidence goes to show that electro-plated forks, 
spoons, and ornaments are already, to some extent, taking the 
place of the corresponding articles, far more costly, which con- 
tain a larger proportion of pure silver. No one expects that 
England, Germany, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway will soon 
reverse what is now their established policy, by again bringing 
silver into circulation as money, except for the very limited pur- 
poses of a subsidiary currency ; and if not, then all these coun- 
tries, excepting England, must continue for some time to be 
sellers rather than buyers of this metal. Moreover, the facts 
already mentioned make it highly probable that France, Hol- 
land, and Belgium may soon adopt entirely the monetary policy 

1 This expectation is not likely to be fulfilled. During the present year 
(1880), the indications are, although there is still silver ore enough in the Corn- 
stock lode, that the difficulty and cost of mining and extracting it at great depths 
are so much enhanced that it cannot much longer be raised at profit. The sup- 
ply of silver from this source, therefore, must be greatly diminished, even if the 
mines are not abandoned altogether. On the other hand, the recent discoveries 
at Leadville and other districts in Colorado bid fair to compensate the decreased 
production in Nevada. For the fiscal year 1879, the Director of the Mint esti- 
mates the product of silver from all the mines in the United States at about forty 
millions, of which Colorado alone furnishes nearly twelve millions. 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 45 

of Germany, as they have already adopted it to some extent ; 
and neither British India nor China seems likely soon to have 
again so large an excess of exports over imports as will enable 
either of them once more to exercise its extraordinary power 
of absorbing silver currency. There may be some further re- 
action from the sort, of panic in the market which recently 
depressed the price of standard silver to less than 50c?. per 
ounce ; but the fluctuations of value in the markets of the world 
caused by speculative movements or panics are of short dura- 
tion and very limited extent. Silver may not again fall as 
low as it was in July, 1876 ; but it would be unreasonable to 
expect that it will soon recover and permanently maintain the 
price which it commanded in 1870. 

The next subject of inquiry referred to this Commission con- 
cerns the policy of a " restoration of the double standard in 
this country, and, if restored, what the legal relation between 
the two metals, silver and gold, should be." 

As the value of any commodity whatever depends primarily 
upon its cost of production, which is constantly varying, and sec- 
ondarily upon its supply and demand, which are also extremely 
variable, as is shown by the incessant fluctuations of mar- 
ket prices, it is obvious that there cannot be an absolute stand- 
ard of value. Such a standard means something fixed and un- 
changeable, by their relation to which all other valuables may 
be measured. Now, there is no such commodity known ; every- 
thing varies in value from one week to another, both from in- 
trinsic causes peculiar to itself, such as its inherent difficulty 
of attainment, and from extrinsic causes affecting those agents, 
labor and capital, by which alone this difficulty can be over- 
come. The best that can be done is to select an approximate 
standard ; that is, some one commodity which seems more stable 
than any other, and establish that by law as the standard by 
which the values of all other commodities are to be measured. 
Legislation is competent to do this, and practically has done it 
both in England and Germany, by establishing a certain num- 
ber of grains of pure gold, coined either into a sovereign or a 
mark, and declaring that this shall be the common measure of 
value. But legislation is not competent to select two such com- 
modities, and to declare that they shall both be the standard or 



46 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

common measure ; or, in other words, that there shall be a 
double standard. To attempt to do so is as absurd as it would 
be to declare by law that two clocks should both be the stand- 
ard for measuring time, though, as everybody knows, no two 
clocks can be made which shall keep perfect time with each 
other. 

This theoretical view of the matter is amply confirmed by 
experience. Every attempt to establish the so-called " double 
standard " has been a failure. The first step toward causing 
any commodity to become a standard of value is to make it a 
legal tender for the payment of debts. But though the law 
may declare that either of two commodities shall be legal ten- 
der, only one of them, and that the cheaper one, is actually 
adopted as a medium of payment. If gold and silver be the 
two commodities chosen, and the legal relation between them be 
made to conform to the ratio of their market prices at the time 
of the enactment, the fluctuations of the market will speed- 
ily change that ratio ; and then the overvalued one speedily 
pushes the other out of circulation, and becomes itself the sole 
standard of value. It appears from the table already referred 
to, showing the monthly fluctuations in London of the gold 
price of standard silver per ounce, that this price remained un- 
altered for as long a period as four months only once in forty- 
three years. Usually it varied every month, and but seldom 
remained fixed for two successive months. But any such de- 
parture of the market price from the relative value of the two 
metals as established by law must cause that one which is over- 
valued, or of which the nominal exceeds the real value, to dis- 
place the other and take the whole circulation to itself. Al- 
ways the bad money pushes out the good, as every one will 
adopt the easiest and cheapest means of paying his debts. 

Thus France attempted, as early as 1803, to establish a 
double standard, and fixed by law the relative value of the two 
metals at 1 to 15.5. This ratio made the legal price of pure 
silver to be 28.64 grains of pure gold per ounce. But for over 
forty years the market price of silver did not, on an average, 
exceed 28.25 grains of pure gold per ounce, so that the law 
overvalued it more than one per cent. To this extent, then, 
in France, silver was worth more as coin than as bullion, while 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 47 

gold was worth more as bullion than as coin. There was a 
profit of about one per cent, in carrying silver to the mint to 
,be coined, and in melting up or exporting gold. Of course, 
silver flowed into France and filled up the circulation, while 
gold coins disappeared, or could be obtained only at a premium. 
In those times, when one was paid even so small a sum as one 
thousand francs, he received his bulky and heavy money in a 
canvas bag, and had to hire a porter or a cab to convey it home. 
During the six years before 1852, the excess of the imports of 
silver into France over the exports was more than twenty-eight 
millions sterling. 

The discoveries of gold in California and Australia about 
1850 reversed this state of things, as it was foreseen that gold 
must fall in relative value. Hence the market price of silver 
rose above its mint valuation, and consequently, the amount of 
gold presented for coinage in France became immense, and 
there was a drain of silver, vast quantities of which were melted 
down and shipped to India. The inconvenience which resulted 
from the want of small change had to be met by reducing the 
small coinage to the state of a subsidiary or token currency, 
all pieces of two francs and under being much overvalued, so 
that they could not be exported or melted up without consider- 
able loss. But the silver five-franc piece was nominally retained 
at its old valuation, and to fill the gap caused by its practical 
disappearance, gold five-franc pieces were coined to a large 
amount. Like our own gold one-dollar coins, however, these 
were found to be inconveniently small, and the coinage of them 
ceased even before the recent depreciation of silver brought the 
silver five-franc pieces again into circulation. During the six 
years, beginning with 1852, the excess of the exports of silver 
from France over the imports was more than forty-five millions 
sterling. 

Hence it appears that the French attempt to establish a 
double standard has been a total failure. France had silver 
for her only standard from 1803 till 1850, and gold for her 
only standard ever since. Even now, since the recent great de- 
preciation of silver, restricting the coinage of that metal within 
very narrow limits is a virtual adherence to the single stand- 
ard of gold. The corresponding attempt to establish a double 



48 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

standard in the United States resulted in a similar experience 
of loss, inconvenience, and failure. 

A law of Congress passed in 1792 established the United 
States mint, and so regulated the coinage that both 24.75 
grains of pure gold and 371.25 grains of pure silver were made 
legal tender for a dollar. This was an attempt to establish the 
double standard on the ratio of 1 to 15, which was probably 
the actual ratio of the market prices of the two metals at that 
epoch. But silver immediately began to decline in price, and 
before 1800 it had reached the ratio of 15.42; while in 1803, as 
we have seen, even the French ratio of 15.5 had become too 
small. Of course, the overvalued silver filled up the circulation 
almost entirely ; the whole coinage of gold for forty years was 
less than twelve millions of dollars ; and this little was for the 
most part either preserved as a curiosity, or melted up and ex- 
ported. A gold coin was seldom seen, and silver was virtually 
the only standard. This was not the worst. As the silver 
dollar had been made to conform almost precisely in weight 
and fineness to the Spanish milled dollar, Spanish quarters, 
eighths, and sixteenths, usually much debased by abrasion and 
clipping, poured into the country through our trade with the 
Spanish West Indies and South America, and soon formed al- 
most our whole fractional currency. A small Spanish coin 
called a pistareen, so much worn as hardly to be worth seven- 
teen, passed current for twenty, cents. Vainly did the United 
States mint issue American fractional coins of full weight and 
value, as these were soon melted up, and the bullion sold at a 
high profit for the worn Spanish coins which were equally cur- 
rent. Never was there a better illustration of the principle 
that bad money invariably displaces the good. 

The law of 1834 remedied these evils by actually lowering 
the standard more than six per cent., and thereby establishing 
the relative value of the two metals at 1 to 16. Instead of 
24.75, only 23.22 grains of pure gold were coined into a dol- 
lar, and thereby the par of exchange with England, which had 
been about |4.56, was raised to $4.87, for the pound sterling. 
Moreover, as by the ratio thus established silver was underval- 
ued about three per cent., gold began to be issued in large 
quantities and came into general use, while silver pieces of the 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 49 

denomination of one dollar were almost entirely thrown out of 
circulation, and the silver fractions of a dollar were kept in use 
only through the necessity of having some small change, and 
because, being much handled, they soon lost a portion of their 
weight by abrasion. The nuisance of the much worn Spanish 
coins was gradually abated by a general refusal to accept them 
at more than four fifths of their nominal value. Practically, 
then, the attempt to establish a double standard had resulted 
in lowering the whole standard more than six per cent., and 
in establishing first silver, and then gold, as the sole measure 
of value. 

In less than twenty years, the fluctuations of price in the 
market again created a necessity of tinkering the so-called 
"double-standard" currency. Soon after 1850, silver rose 
relatively so much in price that even the smaller silver coins 
began to be melted up and sold as bullion. It became difficult 
to effect small purchases, or to obtain " change " for a dollar. 
Congress had now to undo what it had done in 1834. But its 
action was reversed, not by restoring the gold dollar to its for- 
mer full weight and value, but by diminishing the quantity of 
silver which represented a dollar just about as much as it had 
lessened the quantity of gold in the dollar, nineteen years be- 
fore. The law of 1853 virtually surrendered the double stand- 
ard, and made gold coin the only available legal tender for any 
debt over five dollars ; for though the former one-dollar piece, 
containing 371.25 grains of pure silver, was not expressly de- 
monetized, it had gone out of use, and practically remained 
out of use, in the domestic currency, because its value as bull- 
ion had come to exceed by about three per cent, its value as 
coin. But the silver fractional denominations, from half a dol- 
lar downward, were reduced to the state of a subsidiary or 
token currency, by so far diminishing their weight that a dol- 
lar's worth of them contained only 345.6 grains of pure silver, 
and by making them legal tender only for an amount not ex- 
ceeding five dollars. 

Thus gold was maintained as the single available standard 
for nine years longer, when, in 1862, the issue of an inconvert- 
ible paper currency, and making it legal tender, practically 
abolished every standard of value, and introduced the state of 
4 



50 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

uncertainty, of wild fluctuations of prices, and consequent reck- 
less speculation, from the evil effects of which the country has 
not recovered up to the present day. In 1873, however, prob- 
ably as a precaution against the great depreciation of silver 
which was even then foreseen, Congress took the last step 
toward the legal establishment of the single gold standard by 
demonetizing silver altogether, making all our silver coins legal 
tender only for an amount not exceeding five dollars. 1 The 
gain which would accrue from manufacturing silver bullion 
into coins at a nominal value largely exceeding its cost was 
constituted a special fund for making good " the wastage ; " it 
might more properly be used to meet the heavy loss to which a 
silver currency is always subject from abrasion and clipping. 

In the opinion of the undersigned, it is expedient to take 
one more step toward assimilating our system of metallic cur- 
rency to that of England and the commercial world generally. 
By diminishing the quantity of pure gold in the dollar only 
three fifths of one grain, or considerably less than half of what 
the law of 1834 subtracted from it without producing injury 
or complaint, our American half-eagle or five-dollar piece would 
become almost the exact equivalent of one pound sterling, and 
would differ only by a very small fraction from the value of 
twenty-five (gold) francs in France and the other States of the 
Latin Monetary Union, and from twenty (gold) marks in Ger- 
many. Already the English sovereign, or one pound sterling, 
is a recognized portion of the actual currency of such countries 
as Portugal, Brazil, and Egypt, and is practically current at 
its full value in every civilized country. Austria has recently 
coined and issued gold four-florin and eight-florin pieces, which, 
as practical equivalents respectively of the French ten-franc 
and twenty-franc coins, are easily expressed as definite por- 
tions of the pound sterling. Hence the slight change here 
recommended would be attended with the following important 
advantages : — 

1. It would be a long step toward establishing one monetary 
unit, denomination of account, and standard of value for the 
whole commercial world. 

1 The act of 1873 put a stop to the coinage and issue of the one-dollar piece 
containing 371.25 grains of pure silver, and declared that the one-dollar gold piece, 
containing 23.22 grains of pure metal, should hereafter be the unit of value. 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 51 

2. It would greatly facilitate the computation and settlement 
of international balances, accounts, and exchanges. 

3. It would be the strongest possible safeguard for the fut- 
ure stability of the standard of value, as all nations would be 
interested in its preservation, and it could not be effectively 
altered without their unanimous consent. 

4. In making remittances to other countries, it would no 
longer be necessary to melt the coins and have the bullion re- 
coined at considerable charge in a foreign mint. The govern- 
ment would no longer be put to the heavy expense of coin- 
ing and recoining the same bullion, which had been first sent 
abroad, and then returned, through fluctuations in the balance 
of trade. 

5. As American gold coins would be equally current every- 
where with English sovereigns, New York would share at least 
one of the advantages which have made London the banking- 
house and commercial centre of the civilized world. 

6. In the language of Professor Jevons, " a world-wide gold 
currency of unimpeachable fidelity and excellence would be 
obtained " alike from British, French, German, and American 
mints." 

7. It would much facilitate our return to specie payments, 
the present premium on gold, five and one half, being reduced 
immediately to about three, per cent. 

Justice, however, requires that all debts and contracts ex- 
pressly made payable in gold, and outstanding on the date of 
the law authorizing this change in the coinage, should be dis- 
charged only by tender of dollars each containing 23.22 grains 
of pure gold, or by their equivalent. 

After what now has been said, it is hardly necessary to con- 
sider the third subject proposed by Congress to this Commis- 
sion, namely, " the policy of continuing legal-tender notes con- 
currently with the metallic standards." As it has been proved 
both by theory and experience that a double standard is an il- 
lusion and a failure, every attempt to establish it having led to 
frequent changes of legislation, and to great inconvenience and 
uncertainty in commercial affairs, any project for creating a 
triple standard ought to be summarily rejected as impracticable 
and absurd. The law may say that either a gold dollar, a silver 



52 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

dollar, or a paper dollar shall be indiscriminately legal tender ; 
but the only actual tender ever made for the payment of a debt 
will be that one which, at the time, is the cheapest of the three. 
Hence the most effectual means of rapidly debasing the stand- 
ard, that is, of depreciating the value of a dollar, will be to 
authorize any one to cancel debts outstanding against him by 
proffering in payment that one out of three different kinds of 
dollars which happens at the moment to be of the smallest 
value, especially when, as during the last year, the three are 
rapidly and largely changing their relative values. Only last 
July, the so-called " trade dollar," the heaviest and most valu- 
able one ever coined, was worth about .86, and the " greenback " 
paper dollar about .89, of a gold dollar. Five months later, 
these proportions were reversed ; the trade-dollar had risen in 
value to .94 1, and the greenback to 92J, in gold. What sort 
of a standard would they have been, either separately or to- 
gether, when they are liable to such fluctuations both in their 
relative and absolute values in less than six months ? As there 
was no apparent change in the average price of commodities in 
general between July and December, 1876, we may be sure 
that the value of the gold dollar during that interval remained 
without alteration. Yet, under the attempt to create a triple 
standard, it is certain that the gold dollar would have been the 
only one which, during those five months, could not have come 
into use. 

Whatever, then, might be the intention of Congress in at- 
tempting to create a double or triple standard, it is certain 
that the actual consequence of such attempt must be to exclude 
gold altogether, and to make either silver or the legal-tender 
note the only measure of value, and the only medium for the 
payment of debts. We have, therefore, merely to consider 
whether it is expedient and just to establish either of these two 
forms of money, in preference to gold, as the sole standard. 

Money, properly so called, has two perfectly distinct func- 
tions to perforin. It must be capable of use both as a standard 
of value and as a medium of exchange. It is obvious that the 
former of these functions is by far the more important. As to 
the latter, almost any commodity, even any ticket of transfer 
or token of debt, though without any intrinsic value, may be 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 53 

made to serve perfectly well as a medium of exchange, the 
question which of them is to be preferred for this purpose be- 
ing determined solely by considering which is the most con- 
venient. Silver, copper, nickel, bank-checks, railroad-tickets, 
postage-stamps, accounts-current or offsets of sales against pur- 
chases, and the like, may serve as media to facilitate the trans- 
fer of those commodities which are the. only real objects of 
barter and sale. What is called a subsidiary or token currency, 
whether it be silver, copper, or nickel, is of this nature, the law 
affixing a definite limit both to the amount of it in use, and to 
the extent to which it shall be a legal tender, and also giving 
it a conventional, often differing from its intrinsic, relation to 
the real measure of value. 

Far otherwise is it with the other function of money, that of 
serving as a standard of value, as on the proper execution of 
this office some of the most momentous interests of the whole 
community are entirely dependent. The very life of trade, and 
of confidence between man and man, depends on the due per- 
formance of contracts, on the successful maintenance of a sys- 
tem of credit, and on the anticipation of what will be the rela- 
tive value of money and commodities at some future day. Very 
few mercantile transactions are really completed at the time 
when the bargains are first made, or when the commodities af- 
fected first change hands. Nearly all of them, either directly, 
or in their necessary and intended consequences, extend into 
a more or less remote future. The trader buys only in order to 
sell again, it may be the next week, the next month, or the next 
year. In every commercial community, far the larger portion 
of the sales which are effected are made on credit ; that is, on 
promises of payment at some future day. And the debt thus 
contracted, through the agency of banks and other financial in- 
stitutions, becomes itself an object of barter and sale, which 
are again dependent on trust in the future. Even in the case 
of cash sales of commodities for speedy consumption, the pur- 
chaser's choice of the time and place for the transaction usually 
depends on his estimate of what prices are, or will be, else- 
where or on some future day. All such bargains, expectations, 
and promises must be expressed, and, if necessary, registered, 
in the common denomination of account, — in francs, pounds 



54 A MINORITY KEPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

sterling, or dollars ; and any uncertainty as to the future value 
of this denomination of account must discourage individuals 
from engaging in the transaction, or, if not foreseen, must 
work hardship and injustice to them in the result. And these 
evils may all be caused, not only by any actual alteration of 
the standard within the period of time belonging to the trans- 
action or the contract, but by any reasonable grounds of fear 
that, within that time, it may fluctuate in value. Any depreci- 
ation of the currency, if foreseen a few weeks before its occur- 
rence, may be so far anticipated and exaggerated in its effects 
upon the market, that a very considerable rise of prices may 
take place some time before the currency is depreciated at all ; 
and then, owing to the reaction of disappointed hopes and fears, 
the real depreciation, when it comes, may be contemporaneous 
with a considerable fall in prices. Trade thus becomes a lot- 
tery, and legitimate enterprises in commerce and manufactures 
must either be abandoned altogether, or kept up under a heavy 
cost of insurance against the uncertainty of the returns. The 
enhancement of prices produced by such insurance takes place 
without any of that compensation to the consumers, embracing 
the whole laboring class in the community, which arises from 
a corresponding increase in their income or wages. 

In the opinion of the undersigned, to adopt silver for the 
standard dollar would be a greater discouragement to manu- 
factures and trade, and would do more harm to all the great 
industrial interests of the country, than even the continuance 
of the present wretched system of an inconvertible paper cur- 
rency. Not only during the last year has silver undergone 
greater and more rapid fluctuations in price than paper, but 
the causes of its fluctuation are more difficult to be discovered, 
and less controllable, because wholly out of reach by legisla- 
tion. By a very moderate and gradual contraction of the legal- 
tender currency, it is certain that Congress can prevent the 
paper dollar from sinking below its present value, and, by a 
few other well considered measures, can steadily raise its value 
to par without spreading alarm, or creating any disturbance in 
the markets, or perilling any interest but those of the stock- 
jobbers, even before the time now fixed by law for the resump- 
tion of specie payments. But in view of recent experience, 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 55 

who can tell what the price of silver will be six months hence, 
or what legislative enactment can increase or diminish that 
price a single penny ? As well might a legislator attempt by 
taking thought to add one cubit to his stature. Yet the only 
apparent motive for urging the adoption of a silver standard in 
the United States, at the very time when all Europe seems to 
be on the point of discarding it, is the vain expectation that 
an act of Congress may have the effect, in the stock-jobbers' 
phrase, of bulling the price of silver throughout the markets 
of the world. Granted that such an act might create a mar- 
ket for the silver which still remains to be sold by Germany 
and other European countries, it certainly could not restrict 
the productiveness of the mines in the Comstock lode, or re- 
store to British India and China their former power of absorb- 
ing the surplus silver of the civilized portions of the globe. It 
would not be becoming for the dignity, as it certainly would be 
prejudicial to the interests, of the United States to engage in 
an operation equivalent to stock-jobbing, by making heavy pur- 
chases on a falling market of a commodity generally discred- 
ited elsewhere, in the idle hope of raising and controlling its 
price. The benefits of such an operation, if any, would be 
reaped only by the stockholders in silver mines, while the in- 
convenience and loss would be sustained by the people. 

There are special reasons why silver is less eligible than gold 
for the chief place in a metallic currency. Its weight and bulk 
are too great in proportion to its value, so that it is very in- 
convenient for use in large transactions, and for the settlement 
of international balances. Its proper place is a subordinate 
one, being well fitted for small retail purchases and adjusting 
the fractional portions of accounts. And this place, as a sub- 
sidiary or token currency, seems to be now determinately 
marked out for it throughout Europe. We learn from the Di- 
rector of the United States mint, that one million of dollars 
in gold coins weighs 1 ton, 16 hundred-weight, 86 pounds ; 
while the same value in "trade-dollars " amounts to 30 tons, 
and in subsidiary silver coins, to a little over 27 tons, 11 hun- 
dred-weight. Any one who was in France about 1840, when 
silver was virtually the only standard, and no bank-bills were 
in use of a less denomination than one hundred francs, will re- 



56 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

member how burdensome and inconvenient this form of money 
seemed. 

Another and more serious objection to the use of silver cur- 
rency is its liability to considerable loss of weight and value by 
abrasion and clipping. Gold coins are but little exposed to 
deterioration from these causes. Having considerable value in 
small bulk, they are closely scrutinized when offered in pay- 
ment, and if light in weight are rejected, so that worn and 
clipped coins, so to speak, never get a foothold in the currency. 
But silver pieces, especially the fractions of a dollar, because 
their value is comparatively trifling, are not closely examined, 
and so still pass current, though their original value has been 
much impaired. 

By a careful and extensive series of experiments, weighing 
a large number of (gold) sovereigns taken at random from 
those which had been a long or short time in circulation, Pro- 
fessor Jevons ascertained that the loss by abrasion on each coin 
was almost always exactly proportional to the number of years 
it had been in use. He was thus enabled further to ascertain, 
that the average annual loss of weight by each sovereign was 
forty-three thousandths of one grain. In twenty-six years of 
use, therefore, it will have lost by abrasion about one per cent, 
of its value. In the same manner, he found the average an- 
nual wear of the Aa?/*-sovereign to be sixty-nine thousandths 
of a grain, or more than half as much again as that of a whole 
sovereign. The smaller coin, therefore, loses by friction one 
per cent, of its value in about sixteen and a quarter years, this 
greater loss being attributable to its exposing more surface in 
proportion to its weight, and to its being more rapidly handled 
in purchases at retail. 

We do not know that any equally careful experiments have 
been made to ascertain how much silver coins lose annually by 
abrasion ; but a tolerably good estimate may be formed by com- 
parison of the two cases. Other things being equal, the loss 
will be proportioned to the amount of surface exposed to fric- 
tion, and also to the frequency and carelessness with which the 
coins are handled. Now, a shilling exposes to wear about as 
much surface as a sovereign, and therefore, from this cause 
alone, a pound sterling in silver shillings will lose annually by 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 57 

abrasion twenty times as much as the same value in one gold 
piece. Moreover, in the numberless petty transactions of 
every-day life, shillings are circulated far more rapidly and 
carelessly than sovereigns, and their consequent loss by friction 
must thus be much increased. Then the estimate formed by 
the best authorities seems a reasonable one : that the annual 
loss on silver coins by abrasion is at least one per cent. 

Hence it appears that the cost of repair, the difficulty of 
maintaining the currency in full weight and good condition, is 
at least twenty-six times as great for silver coins as for gold 
ones. If the government neglects its duty of making good at 
considerable expense this annual deterioration by wear, the 
state of a silver currency soon becomes deplorable. After 
some years of ordinary active use, the coins betray their loss 
of weight by their worn and defaced appearance ; and the evil 
is increased and made universal by dishonest persons, who 
pick out from the circulation the pieces freshly issued from the 
mint, and others which happen to be less worn, and by punch- 
ing or clipping reduce them to the average, or below the aver- 
age, of debasement. Also, as the coins now pass perhaps for 
ten per cent, more than they are worth, foreign silver coins of 
inferior weight are attracted from neighboring countries to a 
place where they are current for a higher value than they pos- 
sess at home ; and the task of expelling these intruders is by no 
means an easy one. Already, though our fractional silver cur- 
rency has been but very recently restored to use, worn Canadian 
and Spanish "■ quarters" and punched American coins have be- 
gun to appear in circulation. If remedial measures are not 
adopted, our silver currency will soon be again in as bad condi- 
tion as it was just before 1830, or as that of England before 
the recoinage of 1696, or as that of Germany before her aban- 
donment of the silver standard in 1873. 

The evil in question is not so considerable, and a remedy for 
it is not so difficult to be had, if silver be restricted to its only 
proper monetary function, that of furnishing a subsidiary or 
token currency. No one is then obliged to receive the deteri- 
orated coins except to the small amount for which they are 
legal tender ; and as the whole quantity in circulation is not 
very great, and the government have reaped a large profit by 



58 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

issuing it at a rate considerably above its intrinsic value, this 
profit may properly be made a fund for defraying the expense 
of constantly withdrawing the light coins, and filling the 
vacuum with others of full weight fresh from the mint. In 
this way, England and France of late years have kept their 
subsidiary silver coins in perfectly good condition, the former 
country usually issuing new and perfect pieces each year to 
the amount of £300,000, yet without at all increasing the vol- 
ume of this portion of the currency, because old and worn 
coins to the same amount are withdrawn. 

But if silver is made legal tender for any amount whatever 
— and that is what the project of a double or triple standard 
means — gold will disappear from circulation, no fund will be 
available to defray the considerable cost of annual repairs, and 
both the United States treasury and the country generally 
will be reduced to the condition in which British India is al- 
ready placed, with liabilities both abroad and at home, which 
are payable only in gold, but with taxes, wages, and dividends 
receivable in a metal which may again, as during the last year, 
lose sixteen per cent, of its value within six months. 

A few persons who do not understand the subject imagine, 
that if the Mint and the Treasury be required, under the sys- 
tem of a double standard, freely to exchange gold dollars for 
silver ones at par, or the reverse, whenever such exchange is 
demanded, then neither metal could fall below the value of the 
other. Certainly it could not, within the limits of the country 
foolish enough to act thus, and during the few weeks which 
could elapse before its mint and treasury would be drained of 
their last gold dollar. For, suppose the price of silver should 
fall in the London market only two per cent, below its former 
value relative to gold; then any person, by shipping thence 
nine hundred and eighty thousand dollars' worth of silver bull- 
ion, could receive for it here one million of dollars, and could 
repeat this operation indefinitely, or until stopped by the bank- 
ruptcy of our mint. A compulsory union of the dearer metal 
with the cheaper one could permanently establish an equality 
of value between them only if the unequal marriage were sanc- 
tioned by all the nations of the earth. But as probably both 
England and Germany would at once forbid the banns, this 



A MINOKITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 59 

project of M. Czernuschi is not likely to be soon carried into 
operation. 1 

The undersigned sees no objection, however, to a consider- 
able enlargement of the limits within which the subsidiary silver 
currency is now issued and made a legal tender, paper money 
being withdrawn to an extent equivalent to the enlarged issue 
thus made, as has been already done in the case of the silver 
fractions of a dollar, so that the aggregate volume of the cur- 
rency shall not be increased. An important step would thus be 
taken toward a resumption of specie payments, and a reason- 
able concession would be made to those who desire a larger use 
of silver money. Dollars might be coined each containing 
345.6^ grains of pure silver, be made legal tender to an amount 
not exceeding twenty dollars, and be issued only in exchange 
for paper money, whether greenbacks or national bank notes, of 
any denomination below five dollars, the notes thus received 
in exchange being immediately cancelled and destroyed. A 
burdensome redundancy of silver thus thrown into circulation 
might be prevented by making it receivable by the Treasury to 
any amount, in payment of all dues to the government which 
are not by law made payable only in gold. These silver dol- 
lars would be a convenient and unexceptionable medium of ex- 
change, and as they would not be a standard of value, they 
could not introduce any uncertainty about the just fulfilment 
of contracts. They could not be melted up or exported with- 
out loss, and as receivable by the government to any amount, 
they could not become depreciated in the market. The 
amount of one-dollar and two-dollar notes now in circulation 
is about sixty-five millions of dollars. These would all be 
gradually withdrawn, and their place would be filled by silver 
coin in all retail transactions. 

We come now to the last subject which this Commission is 
required to consider, namely, " the best means for facilitating 
the resumption of specie payments." In the opinion of the 

1 They have forbidden the banns. At the International Monetary Conference, 
convened at the request of our government at Paris, in August, 1878, the Com- 
missioners of no one of the European nations there represented were willing to 
sanction any attempt to cause gold and silver to circulate side by side at a fixed 
ratio of value. The project was summarily denounced by them as Quixotic and 
impracticable. 



60 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

undersigned, the two measures already herein proposed would 
go far toward accomplishing such resumption without creating 
any disturbance in the markets, without any injurious shock of 
sudden transition, and without harming any class or interest 
that can rightfully claim to be protected by the government. 
Each of these measures is a concession to one or the other of 
the only two parties who now appear to be hostile to such re- 
sumption. Reducing the quantity of pure gold in the dollar 
to 22.6 grains, through bringing it so much nearer the present 
value of the legal-tender (greenback) note, favors those of the 
indebted class who fear that resumption will make it more dif- 
ficult for them to pay their debts. Substituting silver for all 
notes below the denomination of five dollars will be as large a 
measure of protection to what may be called " the silver inter- 
est " as can reasonably be asked from Congress. Should these 
two recommendations be adopted, it is reasonable to believe 
that the premium on gold would continue to decline as fast, 
and also as uniformly and innocuously, as it has done since 
March 9, 1876 ; and since its fall, within ten months after that 
date, from fifteen to five and a half per cent., so far from creat- 
ing any injury or disturbance, has been attended with a consid- 
erable growth of confidence and revival of trade, there are no 
grounds for apprehending any evil consequences through its 
further decline from three per cent, to zero. The paper dollar 
having thus risen to its par value, specie payments might 
safely be resumed some time before the period now fixed by 
law, as the amount of surplus gold already in the treasury 
would be quite sufficient to meet the very moderate demands 
which would then be made upon it to redeem its notes. 

In order to make sure of this further decline, however, and 
also to diminish what would still be the excessive volume of 
paper currency, the Secretary of the Treasury should be en- 
abled and required gradually to lessen the amount of it in cir- 
culation. He is already authorized to sell United States bonds 
for gold as a means of providing for resumption, and also to 
sell the gold so obtained and receive legal-tender notes in pay- 
ment. These notes he should be required to destroy, to the 
amount of three millions of dollars a month, none others being 
issued in their place. This would only be to continue, under 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 61 

the authority of law, the same rate of contraction which has 
spontaneously taken place during the last twenty-two months. 
These preliminary measures being adopted, Congress might 
safely and justly repeal all laws which "make anything but 
gold and silver coin a legal tender in payment of debts." 

It is evident, then, that the accumulation of more gold in 
the Treasury is not a necessary means or preliminary for the 
resumption of specie payments. The legal-tender notes orig- 
inally issued in payment of debts due from the United States 
are redeemed and discharged when received as an equivalent for 
the same amount of debts due to the United States, none others 
being issued in their place. In fact, the process of redemption 
is constantly going on through the receipts from internal taxa- 
tion and other sources ; and this process is made final, simply 
by not paying out again these notes or any others, and making 
what provision may be necessary to discharge the ordinary ob- 
ligations of the Treasury, either by imposing additional taxes 
or by the sale of bonds. During the last fiscal year, about one 
hundred and twenty-five millions of these notes were received as 
internal revenue and from the sale of the public lands ; and if 
none others had been issued in their place, resumption would, 
before this time, have been complete, and accomplished, too, 
by a process so gradual and harmless that none but those 
who closely watch the financial operations of the government 
would have been aware that anything unusual was going on. 

What is to be feared from making silver an unlimited legal 
tender is not so much a depreciation of the standard of value, 
as the recurrence of the sudden and great fluctuations in the 
market prices of commodities, and of the reckless speculation 
in commerce, mining, and manufactures, which are properly at- 
tributable, as in the case of paper money, to having no stand- 
ard at all. What we dread is not the fall, but the fluctuation, 
in value of the would-be standard, and the feeling of uncer- 
tainty thereby produced ; and this dread is only confirmed and 
enhanced by the recovery in the market price of silver, within 
the last six months, from about 4Tid. to 58|d. an ounce, being 
about all that it had lost during the earlier part of the year 
1876. Against this uncertainty, and its depressing effect upon 
all legitimate enterprise, industry, and trade, nothing can pro- 



62 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

tect us. The discovery of more bonanzas in the Comstock 
lode, the further demonetization of silver by France and Hol- 
land, or a still more unfavorable balance of trade in British 
India, may send the price of that metal down again during the 
next half year lower than ever. With such a contingency 
hanging over it, commerce does not start into full activity and 
industry is paralyzed. 

Those who still fear that a resumption of gold payments 
would be prejudicial to our financial interests, and do wrong 
as well as harm to the indebted classes, ought to learn from 
the experience of the last three years, and especially from that 
of the year which has just ended, that their apprehensions are 
groundless. The war prices, the wild speculations, and exces- 
sive personal expenditures, which had been created and fostered 
by the immense issues of paper money in 1864 and 1865, and 
maintained by the convulsive efforts of those who had been 
enormously enriched by these events, reached at length their 
inevitable issue, and came to an end all at once in the crisis of 
September, 1873. More than ever before during the present 
century, rents and prices fell, real estate ceased to be market- 
able, merchants went into bankruptcy, railroads passed into 
the hands of receivers, manufactories stopped, the incomes of 
persons not in active business but living on their private means 
were cut off, and the laboring classes were thrown out of em- 
ployment. Great as was the calamity, however, after the 
storm had cleared the air, a revival would probably have be- 
gun in less than a twelve-month, as had been the case in all 
former commercial crises, had not the Secretary of the Treas- 
ury so far strained his authority beyond all law or precedent 
as to throw upon the market, without any express sanction by 
Congress, an additional issue of twenty-six millions of paper 
money, with the threat that it might be followed by eighteen 
millions more. Then, indeed, people did not know what to 
expect ; confidence broke down entirely ; capitalists preferred 
to allow their funds to remain idle, rather than to make loans 
which might be repaid in dollars not worth half as much as 
those which had been borrowed ; and what might have been 
merely a temporary convulsion, followed by the glow of re- 
viving health and strength, passed over into that general pa- 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 63 

ralysis of trade and industry which we have witnessed during 
the last three years. 

Experience has demonstrated that the cause of this pro- 
longed evil, which has brought multitudes of industrious and 
deserving persons to the brink of penury and ruin, was not 
what the inflationists call a " lack of money." When the calam- 
ity was at its height, as it was throughout 1875 and the early 
part of 1876, there was no lack, but rather a superabundance, 
of money, the banks and the capitalists having more than they 
knew what to do with. Hence they were eager to let it on 
undoubted security, such as government stock, and on call, as 
the phrase is, so that there would be no time or opportunity 
for its depreciation, at as low a rate as three, or even as two 
and one half, per cent. With a circulation then amounting to 
nearly seven hundred and forty millions of paper dollars, which 
at that time were worth about eighty-seven cents apiece, and 
which, because commerce and industry were paralyzed, were 
freely offered on call at three per cent, interest, it would surely 
have been absurd to call for the issue of " more money " as a 
means of rescuing the country from its difficulties. 

At length, especially during the latter half of the year 1876, 
the evil began to cure itself, and that, too, by means which 
clearly indicate that the undue inflation, and consequent fluct- 
uating value, of the currency had been the sole original source 
and the aggravation of the difficulty. Spontaneously, without 
any aid from legislation, or any concert between individuals or 
the banks, the paper currency began to contract itself. Unable 
to make any profitable use of their funds, because credit was 
dead in the community, and the wings of enterprise were clipped, 
many of the banks voluntarily surrendered their circulation 
altogether or in part, and either retired from the business, or 
confined their operations to what are the only two proper func- 
tions of a banking institution, — those of deposit and discount. 
They were thus relieved from some heavy taxes, and were able 
to withdraw their United States stock, deposited as security 
to redeem their circulation, and by selling this stock at the 
advanced prices which it commands in the market, because 
payable in gold only, to make greater gains than were possi- 
ble from lending their own notes at three per cent, interest. 



64 A MINOEITY EEFOET ON THE SILVEE QUESTION. 

Though the act of January 14, 1875, repealed all limits to the 
increase of national-bank circulation, and thereby invited a 
further inflation of the currency, it appears from the last re- 
port of the Comptroller of the Currency, that the total decrease 
of legal-tender notes and national bank notes between January 
14, 1875, and November 1, 1876, has been over forty-five mill- 
ions of dollars. And this process of diminution is still going 
on, the amount of legal-tender notes on deposit with the Treas- 
urer, for the purpose of still further retiring bank-notes, being, 
on November 1, 1876, nearly twenty-one millions, so that the 
aggregate amount of paper money voluntarily withdrawn from 
circulation, in less than twenty-two months, has been about 
sixty-six millions, or nine per cent, of the whole quantity in 
use. 

And what has been the consequence of this spontaneous con- 
traction of the paper currency ? The paralysis of credit and in- 
dustry is passing away, and commerce to a marked degree has 
begun to revive. A very favorable balance of trade has reduced 
the rates of exchange on England considerably below par, and 
gold has constantly flowed into the country to an unprecedented 
extent. According to the estimates of the Director of the Mint, 
the amount of coin and bullion in the United States on June 
30, 1876, was over one hundred and eighty-one millions, of which 
about thirt}^ millions were silver. As the imports of gold dur- 
ing the autumn of 1876 were immense, owing to the favorable 
balance of trade, and as the mines of both the precious metals 
during the same period were very productive, 1 there can be 
no doubt that the quantity of the precious metals in the coun- 
try on January 1, 1877, was at least two hundred and twenty 
millions. In the opinion of the undersigned, that sum is a 
sufficient basis on which specie payments could be maintained 
without difficulty or disturbance, even if resumption should 
take place at a very early day. For the effect of such resump- 
tion would be to rescue this specie from its present semi-latent 
state, employed only in foreign trade and in certain limited 

1 According to Dr. Linderman, " the domestic production of gold and silver 
during the fiscal year (ending June 30, 1876) was about eighty-five and one fourth 
millions dollars ; of which amount, forty-six and three fourths millions were gold, 
and thirty-eight and one half millions silver." 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 65 

transactions with the United States Treasury, and bring it once 
more into full use as money — as a constituent part of the ac- 
tive circulation of the country. So brought back, it would even 
more than fill the gap caused by the partial withdrawal of 
paper currency, and in this way, combined with its effect in 
still further restoring confidence, and putting more heart into 
trade and manufactures, the probable immediate effect of re- 
sumption would be to raise the prices of commodities generally, 
instead of depressing them, and thus actually to favor the in- 
debted states, and generally, the indebted classes of the people. 1 
Turn the matter as we may, the chief cause of the evils un- 
der which, for three years, the country has suffered, has been 
impaired credit and the want of trust in the future. It has 
been the absence of any fixed standard of value, and the un- 
certainty in the markets caused by the fear lest Congress 
should again inflate the paper currency. Who were the great- 
est losers by this deplorable state of things ? Not the creditor 
class, surely ; not the capitalists ; not the owners of unincum- 
bered houses and lands, and government gold-paying stocks, 
and fully constructed and equipped railroads, which are still 
paying dividends, though at reduced rates. These have some- 
thing to fall back upon ; their incomes are diminished, it is 
true, and sometimes cut off altogether ; but they can still sub- 
sist for a long time, even on their dead capital. But the in- 
debted and industrious classes have no shelter behind which 
they can retire for a season. They are exposed at once to the 
whole violence of the storm. For them, the inevitable result of 
the withdrawal of credit, the consequent embarrassment of 
trade, and the crippling of every industrial enterprise, is priva- 
tion of employment, hopeless insolvency, and ultimate ruin. 
No persons in the community would be so much benefited by 
the restoration of a fixed standard of value as the industrious and 
dependent classes. For them, the certainty that the dollar will 
be worth a month or a year hence precisely what it is worth to- 
day means regular employment, a fixed rate of wages, a stable 

1 This anticipation has been fully verified by recent events. The resumption 
of specie payments, January 1, 1879, instead of depressing the markets, was ac- 
companied and followed by a rapid and very considerable enhancement of prices 
generally, and by a corresponding revival of trade and manufactures. 
5 



66 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

market, moderate but certain gains, and the absence of all 
anxiety for the future. 

The South and West, already largely indebted to the East- 
ern and Middle States, are still in urgent need of further ad- 
vances of capital from the same source, in order to develop still 
more their unrivalled opportunities, their boundless stores of 
latent wealth. The paralysis of business throughout the coun- 
try is specially detrimental to them, as they have no reserves 
to fall back upon, no stores of capital already amassed, which 
they can afford to surfer to remain idle for a time, till the re- 
turning tide of confidence and enterprise shall again set the 
wheels of industry in motion. Nearly all their current gains 
from improvements already completed are absorbed in paying 
the interest on the mortgages and bonds which represent the 
advances previously made to them, being the price of most of 
the prosperity which they have hitherto enjoyed. Many of 
the people there are now clamoring for more inflation of the 
currency, thinking that the increase in the number of paper 
dollars, and the consequent inevitable depreciation of their 
value, will both make it easier for them to pay the interest on 
their debts already contracted, and so far revive speculative en- 
terprise as once more to irrigate their fields with the inflow of 
capital from the East. But even a child might see that these 
two contemplated results are incompatible with each other. 
One who is already deeply in debt cannot pave the way for 
obtaining the additional loans that he needs by announcing, of 
his own accord, that he is in a state of spontaneous and chronic 
bankruptcy ; that he will not, at the utmost, pay more than 
ninety-three cents on the dollar, and that he has taken steps to 
make sure that even this dividend shall rapidly be diminished, 
only leaving it uncertain whether it shall early or late be re- 
duced to nothing, and the debt consequently be repudiated al- 
together. Capitalists must be singularly constituted who will 
grant fresh loans to debtors openly announcing such conditions. 

There is a grave question, indeed, whether the national honor 
is not even now tarnished by the mere fact that specie payments 
have not been already resumed. By the act of March, 1869, 
entitled " An act to strengthen the public credit," the faith of 
the United States was " solemnly pledged " " to make provi- 



A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 



67 



sion, at the earliest practical period, for the redemption of the 
United States notes in coin." The amount of legal-tender 
notes outstanding on November 1, 1876, was $367,535,716. 
But it appears from the following table, for which I am indebted 
to the kindness of the Secretary of the Treasury, that, after dis- 
charging all the obligations of the United States already due 
which are payable only in gold, the government sold at public 
auction, between July 1, 1869, and September 30, 1876, sur- 
plus gold to the amount of $389,705,144.68, on which it re- 
ceived a premium of $58,020,155.53. In view of the fact that 
the surplus gold thus disposed of exceeded by over twenty-two 
millions what was necessary to redeem all the legal-tender 
notes outstanding, how can it be said that Congress has kept 
its solemnly-pledged word that it would redeem those notes 
" at the earliest practicable period ?" The paper money re- 
ceived from that sale of gold was not needed in order to pro- 
vide for the other necessary expenditures of the government ; 
for it appears that, during the period in question, after defray- 
ing all the ordinary expenses, the Treasury paid off public debt 
not yet due to an amount exceeding four hundred and thirty- 
five millions of dollars. 



Amount of surplus gold sold by the United States Treasury from July 1, 1866, to 
October 1, 1876, with the premiums received thereon. 



Period. 


"2 . 
< 


s > 
1*1 

H 


& ^ ® 
® » u 
> ftft 


From July 1, 1866, to June 30, 1867 

From July 1, 1867, to June 30, 1868 

From July 1, 1868, to June 30, 1869 

From July 1, 1869, to June 30, 1870 

From July 1, 1870, to June 30, 1871 

From July 1, 1871, to June 30, 1872 

From July 1, 1872, to June 30, 1873 

From July 1, 1873, to June 30, 1874 

From July 1, 1874, to June 30, 1875 

From July 1, 1875, to June 30, 1876 

From July 1, 1876, to September 30, 1876. . 


$38,337,928.78 
54,209,653.79 
32,013,258.45 
65,081,516.50 
72.423,042.03 
77,597,495.70 
76,993,246.54 
38,013,974.80 
33,401,526.42 
25,092,251.44 
1,102,111.25 


$14,154,843.55 

21,934,986.54 

12,376,289.38 

15,294,137.37 

8,892,839.95 

9,412,637.65 

11,560,530.89 

5,037,665.22 

3,979,279.69 

3,723,545.80 

119,518.96 


37 
41 
39 
24 
11 
12 
15 
13 
12 
15 
11 


Totals 1 


514,265,985.70 


106,486,275.00 


21 







1 Also, in May and August, 1876, there was a further sale of gold received 
under the Geneva award, amounting to $8,374,714.78, on which a premium was 
obtained of $1,014,222.85, or nearly 12 per cent. 



68 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

Summing up, the following are presented as the conclusions 
of this Report : — 

1. The great changes which have taken place during the 
last year in the relative value of the two precious metals are 
attributable almost entirely to fluctuations in the market price 
of silver, since the prices of commodities generally, reckoned 
in gold, have been comparatively stable. 

2. These fluctuations indicate a considerable fall in the value 
of silver, which has been produced by three causes : 1. By 
the great productiveness of the silver mines in the Comstock 
lode, which, within a few years, have doubled the average an- 
nual product of that metal for the whole world ; 2. By a 
great diminution, within the last five years, of the demand for 
silver to be exported to British India ; 3. By the demonetiza- 
tion of silver, within the same period, by Germany, Denmark, 
Sweden, and Norway, and by the limit put upon the coinage of 
it by Holland, France, and the other states of the Latin Mone- 
tary Union. 

3. These fluctuations prove that silver has become entirely 
unfit for use as a standard of value ; and this action of Germany 
and other European states shows that they have become aware 
of this unfitness, and have altered their systems of coinage and 
legal tender accordingly. 

4. The question whether the three causes here alluded to have 
permanently depreciated the value of silver is one which does 
not, at present, admit of a determinate answer. Vague estimates 
and uncertain theories afford no safe grounds for legislation. 

5. The so-called double standard is an illusion and an im- 
possibility. The prolonged attempts made both by France and 
the United States to establish such a standard have been com- 
plete failures, causing much confusion and inconvenience, ne- 
cessitating frequent changes of legislation, and resulting only 
in the alternate establishment of one or the other precious metal 
as the sole standard. 

6. Silver is further unfitted to be the principal medium of ex- 
change, first, through its considerable weight and bulk in pro- 
portion to its value, being thus inconvenient for use in large 
transactions and settling international balances ; and, secondly, 
through its constant liability to loss by abrasion and clipping, 



A MINOEITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 69 

the corresponding loss in the case of gold being so small as to 
be almost imperceptible. 

7. The proper place for silver in a monetary system is that 
of a subsidiary or token currency, which is considerably over- 
valued by law, and made legal tender only within certain limits. 
These limits being indeterminate except by general considera- 
tions of expediency, there is no valid objection to so far widen- 
ing them as considerably to increase the amount of silver now 
in circulation, paper money being withdrawn to an equivalent 
amount, and the silver coins being made legal tender for any 
sum not exceeding twenty dollars. 

8. The proposed " policy of continuing legal-tender notes 
concurrently with the metallic standards " would be in the high- 
est degree inexpedient and unjust, this paper-money system 
having been the chief cause of the paralysis of trade and indus- 
try under which the country has labored for the last three 
years, and Congress having, as far back as 1869, solemnly 
pledged the faith of the country for the resumption of specie 
payments at the earliest practicable moment. 

9. Circumstances at the present time have made such re- 
sumption both practicable and easy within a very brief period, 
the paper currency having spontaneously contracted itself at 
the average rate of three millions a month during the last 
twenty-two months. 

In order to complete this very desirable result, and to make 
our monetary system conform in all important respects to that 
of the most prosperous and best ordered commercial countries 
of Europe, the following measures are respectfully recommended 
for adoption by Congress : — 

1. That dollars be coined each containing 345.6 grains of 
pure silver, which shall be legal tender for any sum not ex- 
ceeding twenty dollars, and shall be issued only in exchange 
for paper currency below the denomination of five dollars ; and 
the one-dollar and two-dollar notes so received in exchange 
shall be immediately cancelled and destroyed. These silver 
dollars, however, shall be receivable to any amount in payment 
of any dues to the government, except for duties on imports. 
After January 1, 1878, notes below the denomination of five 
dollars shall not be paid out either by the Treasury or the 
banks, and shall not be legal tender. 



70 A MINORITY REPORT ON THE SILVER QUESTION. 

2. Gold shall in future be coined only at the rate of 22.6 grains 
of pure gold to the dollar, so that the half eagle, or five-dollar 
piece, may be almost the exact equivalent of one pound sterling ; 
and the gold so coined shall be legal tender to any amount : 
Provided, however, That all debts and contracts expressly 
made payable only in gold, and outstanding on the date of this 
enactment, shall be paid and discharged only by dollars each 
containing 23.22 grains of pure gold, or by their equivalent. 

3. Out of the paper currency received by the government 
in the collection of its internal revenue, a sum not exceeding 
three millions of dollars each month shall not be reissued, but 
shall be cancelled and destroyed ; and any deficit which may 
thereby be created in the Treasury shall be supplied in the 
manner already authorized by law, namely, by the sale of any 
of the United States bonds which the Secretary of the Treasury 
is now empowered to issue. 

All of which is respectfully submitted by 

Francis Bowen. 
I concur in the foregoing report of Mr. Bowen. 

R. L. Gibson. 



THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

A SUPPRESSED CHAPTER OF POLITICAL ECONOMY; READ BEFORE THE AMER- 
ICAN ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES IN MARCH, 1868. 

National debts, though they are now wellnigh universal, 
are comparatively modern inventions. They were invented at 
about the same time in France, England, and Holland, towards 
the close of the seventeenth century. Before that period, in- 
deed, costly wars had been waged, and governments bad not 
only contracted heavy debts, but often failed to pay them. 
Sometimes they got rid of them by the dishonest expedient 
formerly called " raising the standard," though we designate 
it by the more appropriate phrase of " depreciating the cur- 
rency." Kings and governments frequently became insolvent; 
but their obligations, like those of private persons, were always 
regarded as strictly personal, and as finally dissolved by the 
death of the bankrupt leaving no available assets. The con- 
trivance of funding a National Debt on the perpetual annuity 
plan, so as to throw the burden of supporting and paying it 
upon posterity, — in other words, of making debts transmissi- 
ble by inheritance, like a house or farm, — was never heard of 
on English ground before the Revolution of 1688. It was first 
hit upon during those costly and disastrous wars which were 
brought upon Europe by the ambition of Louis XIV. 

Every country of any importance on the continent of Europe 
has now a large National Debt, contracted in the main, like 
that of England, to meet the extraordinary expenses of war. 
In proportion to their wealth and ability to pay the annual 
interest, at least four of these countries, Austria, France, Italy, 
and Holland, are more deeply in debt than England. Nearly 
all of these debts, like the English, are redeemable at par at 
the option of the government ; that is, they are funded on the 



72 THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

perpetual annuity plan, since no definite time is fixed for such 
redemption. In one sense, therefore, the debt is merely nomi- 
nal, since no person has a right to demand of the government, 
at any time, the payment of any portion of the principal. The 
annual interest is all that the stockholder is entitled to ; and 
this right is inviolable. The state did not borrow his money 
under any obligation to repay it at a fixed day, but only sold 
him an annuity, which is a perpetual annuity, unless the gov- 
ernment should see fit* at some future time, to exercise the 
privilege, which it has reserved to itself, of redeeming any por- 
tion of it by paying off at par the stock of which it is really 
the interest. The operation of funding properly consists in 
putting a National Debt into this form of a perpetual annuity, 
redeemable, at the option of the debtor, at a certain amount 
which is fixed upon, and is called the par. Of course, this 
amounts to a perpetual mortgage upon the earnings of future 
generations in order to pay the debts of those who are now 
living. 

This " par " is not necessarily the sum which the govner- 
ment received at the time of contracting the debt, but is gen- 
erally much larger, the excess often being fifty or sixty per 
cent. For instance : the government sells an annuity of $500 
a year. If it chooses to create a five per cent, stock for this 
purpose, it designates $10,000 as the par, since this sum, at 
five per cent, will yield a revenue forever of 8500 a year. If 
it prefers a four per cent, stock, it designates $12,500 as the 
par, as this sum also, at four per cent., will produce a perpetual 
annuity of $500. In either case, it sells the $10,000 of five 
per cent, stock, or the $12,500 of four per cents, or the perpet- 
ual annuity of $500, — it matters not what name we give it, 
since in fact they all amount to the same thing, — for what- 
ever may be at the time its market value, — very likely, for 
not more than $7,000 or $8,000. But if, at some future day, 
the government should see fit to pay off the debt, it will be 
obliged to pay either $10,000 or $12,500, according as it has 
called the stock five per cents or four per cents. Hence it is, 
that the government usually pays interest on a much larger 
sum than it has actually received. Thus, the English debt, of 
about 800 millions sterling at three per cent., represents only 



THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 73 

about 464 millions actually received by the Treasury, so that 
the government is in truth paying over five and one half per 
cent, interest. 

The first meaning of the phrase " funding a debt " was dif- 
ferent, and deserves explanation, as it shows how the perpetual 
annuity plan originated. Over a century ago, it was a com- 
mon practice in France and other countries, when the govern- 
ment was in want of money for war purposes, to " farm the pub- 
lic revenues," as it was called ; that is, in return for a large 
sum of money received in advance, to make over to the public 
creditor, for a given 'period of years, the right of collecting 
some tax or duty for his own benefit. For instance : suppose 
the salt-tax, or the duty on sugar, to yield five millions annu- 
ally. The government might then, on condition of receiving 
$38,600,000 paid immediately, farm or let out to the persons 
advancing this sum the right to collect, for their own benefit, 
the salt-tax or sugar-duty for ten years ; since an annuity for 
ten years of five millions, at five per cent, compound interest, 
is worth about thirty-eight and one half millions. Of course, 
the " Farmers General," as these persons were called, became 
very unpopular, as they had their own officers and excisemen, 
who collected the taxes for them with great rigor ; and the 
odium of the burdensome taxes was thrown upon these agents, 
many of whom were guillotined during the French Revolution 
of 1789. The transaction was really a sale or mortgage, for a 
limited period, of certain revenues of the state, rather than a 
loan. It was perfectly legitimate ; since the state has an un- 
doubted right, as one mode of raising extraordinary supplies, 
to impose additional taxes, and then to anticipate their pro- 
ceeds by selling or mortgaging the right to receive them, for 
a given number of years, as a means of repaying both princi- 
pal and interest of the sums advanced on their security. The 
revenues thus pledged, or actually made over, were called the 
funds on which payment of these short annuities was secured. 
This was the original meaning of the phrase " funding a debt," 
which we have retained, though the practice itself has become 
obsolete, as it is not the fashion nowadays to guaranty the 
payment of the public debt in any other way than by an im- 
plied and indefinite pledge of the public faith. 



74 THE PEKPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

This custom of farming the public revenues obviously led 
the way to the practice of selling annuities for short, fixed 
periods, say for ten or twenty years. Then life-annuities were 
sold. Afterwards, Tontines were established, which are life- 
annuities paid to a small company of persons in the manner of 
a lottery, with benefit of survivorship, the share of each holder 
after his death being distributed among his associates, so that 
the last survivor receives the aggregate amount originally paid 
each year to the whole company, and only at his death is the 
total annuity extinguished. Then, long annuities, for ninety- 
nine years or more, were granted, — a step which soon led to 
the present plan of making the yearly payments perpetual. 

In striking contrast with the history of the growth of public 
debt in England and France, we have the financial prosperity 
at this period, and even to a much later day, of the little king- 
dom of Prussia. Aided by a considerable treasure which the 
avarice of his father and his own administrative talent had ac- 
cumulated, the genius of Frederick the Great met all the exi- 
gencies, the mingled triumphs and disasters, of the war of the 
Austrian Succession and the Seven Years' War, without con- 
tracting a dollar of debt. " The burdens of the war had been 
terrible, almost insupportable ; but no arrear was left to em- 
barrass the finances in time of peace." 

The question has been asked, and with increasing earnest- 
ness of late years, — Why have any National Debt? Why 
not pay as we go, in war as well as in peace? Certainly not 
from the lack of ability. We might have done so, had we 
seen fit, even in the unparalleled war of the Great Rebellion, 
the most sanguinary and the most expensive of all that are re- 
corded in modern history. It was not thought proper, how- 
ever, that the surplus earnings of the whole people for four or 
five years should be thus contributed to war purposes. It was 
deemed best that most of them should continue in the present 
enjoyment of the fruits of their industry, on condition of reim- 
bursing, with interest, out of their future earnings, — in the 
way of stock payable in three, five, ten, or twenty years, — those 
owners of capital (our own fellow-citizens, be it remembered) 
from whom the government borrowed enough to carry on and 
finish the conflict. 



THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 75 

The doctrine that a comparatively small immediate sacrifice, 
through the payment of heavy taxes during a war, might pre- 
vent the accumulation of a mountain of debt at its close, has 
been demonstrated by the experience of the British govern- 
ment during that long war with France, which, on the borrow- 
ing and funding system, actually added six hundred millions 
sterling to the National Debt. The struggle really lasted but 
twenty-one years ; but allowing one year of preparation for it, 
and two more years for the necessary delay in coming back to 
a peace system, the whole war period may be said to have been 
twenty-four years. Putting aside the payment of interest on 
debt contracted during the war, it appears that the total ex- 
penditure of the country exceeded the revenue obtained from 
taxation only during the first twelve, and the last four, years 
of actual conflict. During the other eight years, the income 
would have exceeded the expenditure, but for the interest on 
the sums borrowed during these sixteen years. Deducting the 
total of the credit excess during the one period from the total 
of the debit excess during the other, the remainder is only about 
one hundred and fifty-one millions sterling. In other words, 
the total expenditure of the country from 1793 to 1816, both 
inclusive, for internal government, colonies, the war, and debt 
contracted previously to 1793, was only one hundred and fifty- 
one millions greater than the revenue actually derived from 
taxes during these years. Deducting this sum from six hun- 
dred millions, — the debt actually incurred, — we have four 
hundred and forty-nine millions as the debt needlessly incurred 
from the accumulations of interest, from a vicious funding sys- 
tem, and from not imposing the heavy war taxes soon enough. 

The next question is, Ought measures to be instituted for 
paying off the debt, principal and interest, as soon as prac- 
ticable, or should it be allowed to continue for an indefinite 
period ? The English government have adopted the latter pol- 
icy, having reduced their debt but little for half a century. 
It is neither a want of means, nor what has been called " an 
ignorant impatience of taxation," which has caused this delay. 
The annual sum received from taxes is no larger now than it 
was during the four years ending in 1816, though the popula- 
tion meanwhile has nearly doubled, and the national wealth is 



76 THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

increased at least fourfold. That the people would bear, with- 
out material discontent, a considerable increase of their present 
burdens, was proved by recent experience in the Crimean War. 
The debt is allowed to continue, from the belief that it gives 
firmness and stability to the government; nearly the whole 
property of the country, as more or less intimately connected 
with the debt, being deeply interested in its support. It is also 
a powerful dissuasive from any future war ; it may be said to 
have placed England under very heavy bonds to keep the peace. 
This consideration has gained ground of late years, being the 
foundation of the ultra peace-policy adopted by that large por- 
tion of the commercial and manufacturing middle classes, who 
followed the lead of Mr. Cobden and Mr. Bright. It must be 
confessed that there are two sides to their favorite argument. 
A large National Debt may restrain the country from going to 
war, even when the national honor and security seem to advo- 
cate vigorous measures. 

I propose now to offer some considerations in favor of con- 
tracting and paying a National Debt only in the form of short 
annuities, not exceeding twenty-five years in duration, so that 
the whole may always be paid off within the lifetime of the 
generation that contracted it. This plan, I shall endeavor to 
show, offers the following advantages : — 

1. It avoids altogether the very serious objections which may 
be made to the alleged right of any society or body politic to 
bequeath its own voluntarily incurred debts to the generations 
which are to come after it, or to impose any pecuniary obliga- 
tion upon those who are not yet in existence, and are therefore 
incapable of assuming the burden by their own consent. 

2. It materially lessens the risk of future repudiation or 
bankruptcy, and thus strengthens the public credit, thereby 
continually increasing the facility of borrowing at lower rates 
of interest. 

3. It has all the advantages of a sinking fund, the debt be- 
ing thus subjected to a constant and uniform process of liqui- 
dation, while it entirely avoids the risk to which a sinking fund, 
properly so called, is always liable, of being diverted, under 
any considerable emergency, from its original purpose, and ap- 
plied to the state's present wants. 



THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 77 

4. The saving in the rates of interest effected through all 
these advantages will be so considerable, that the yearly pay- 
ment on the short annuity probably will not exceed, and may 
even be considerably less than, the corresponding payment on 
a perpetual annuity, so that the debt will be entirely dis- 
charged in twenty-five years with no greater effort than would 
otherwise be necessary merely to pay the annual interest on it 
forever. 

5. It will materially simplify the fiscal transactions of the 
government, principal and interest being fused together into 
one sum ; while the annual payments on each separate annuity, 
whether of large or small amount, being made divisible in the 
manner of coupons, each being separately negotiable at a longer 
or shorter time before it becomes due, the market will be con- 
stantly supplied with every form of stock convenient for in- 
vestment, according to the various wishes and necessities of 
different capitalists. 

Terminable annuities for long periods, as for one hundred 
years, are usually found not to be desirable forms of invest- 
ment ; and the experience of the British government proves 
that there is no considerable demand for them. Otherwise, 
funding in such annuities would be a very eligible mode of 
liquidating public debt by a process so gradual as hardly to be 
perceived ; though, from the length of the term employed, it 
would still be open to the serious objection of entailing upon 
future generations a burden which does not rightfully belong 
to them. An annuity of 81,000 for one hundred years, sup- 
posing money to be earning four per cent., is worth $24,500, 
while a perpetual annuity of the same amount is worth but 
$25,000 ; in other words, to increase the annual payment less 
than one twelfth of one per cent, would be, in this mode of 
funding, to cancel the whole debt in one hundred years, instead 
of allowing it to continue forever. But corporations and in- 
dividuals looking out for permanent investments do not will- 
ingly purchase into a constantly diminishing fund. "Even the 
subscribers to a new loan, who generally mean to sell their 
subscription as soon as possible, invariably prefer a perpetual 
annuity," redeemable only at par, at the option of the debtor, 
" to an irredeemable annuity for a long term of years, of about 



78 THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

equal amount. The value of the former being always the same, 
or very nearly the same, it makes a more convenient transfer- 
able stock than the latter." 

It might seem that the same objection would apply, and even 
with increased force, to the plan of funding in annuities of only 
twenty-five years' duration. And so it would, if, by this means, 
the term of full repayment were not brought within the ordi- 
nary limit of the lender's own life, so that he might himself 
reasonably expect to see both the beginning and the end of the 
transaction ; and if, also, the recent invention of coupons did 
not permit the distinct annual payments on any one annuity 
to be severed from each other, and then separately bought and 
sold. In this way, almost every conceivable form of invest- 
ment, not exceeding a quarter of a century in duration, might 
be offered in the stock market, to suit the different fancies of 
purchasers. 

Any one, for instance, might purchase a single instalment of 
an annuity of large amount, say $50,000, to be paid after the 
lapse of twenty-five years ; and also a complete annuity of 
small amount, yielding him a yearly income of $2,500 for the 
same period. The price of the former, considering money to 
be worth five per cent., would be about $14,756 ; that of the 
latter, reckoning in the same manner, about $35,244. The 
aggregate of these two sums is $50,000, showing, of course, that 
the result for the purchaser is precisely the same as if he had 
invested this last sum in perpetual annuities at the same rate 
of interest. 

Accordingly, this method combines every possible advantage 
of both systems. The lender who wishes to invest on the old 
plan, of annual payment of the interest only, with final reim- 
bursement of the principal in one sum, can do so, with the ben- 
efit superadded of the constant operation of a sinking fund, one 
twenty-fifth part of the whole debt being necessarily liquidated 
every year ; he has also the option, if he prefers the other sys- 
tem, of waiving the annual payments of interest, and of allow- 
ing his investment steadily to accumulate at compound interest, 
without the delay, inconvenience, and hazard of making an- 
nually fresh investments ; or, thirdly, should exceptional cir- 
cumstances render such a course desirable, he may sink the 



THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 79 

whole sum in a terminable annuity for any period not exceed- 
ing twenty-five years. 

Far the most valuable, and, as I believe, the popular, feature 
of the plan, would be the opportunity which it would afford 
of making investments to any extent, and for any time less 
than twenty-five years, in the form of steady accumulation at 
compound interest. I know not whether the economical or the 
moral advantages of this mode of funding would be the greater. 
Nothing could more effectually stimulate the habit of frugality, 
the effective desire of accumulation, and the consequent rapid 
growth of capital, than to keep the market fully supplied with 
securities of undoubted permanence and value, the holders of 
which, waiving the receipt of annual interest, would find the 
fruits of their industry and economy steadily increasing in 
geometrical ratio, without trouble or watchfulness on their 
part, in full proportion to the time, and for such time only, as 
that during which they originally proposed to keep them, yet 
capable of use as a pledge for obtaining loans, or of immediate 
negotiation and sale, should a change of circumstances or plan 
make such realization desirable. Individuals and corporations 
having frequently considerable sums to invest for a few years, 
with a view only to safety and constant accumulation during 
this period, and desirous of allowing as little of their capital to 
remain unemployed as possible, but at the same time not to 
place it entirely out of reach even for a day, would find in the 
opportunity of purchasing into such stock the perfect fulfilment 
of their wishes. Moreover, as the peculiar advantages of in- 
vestments at compound interest can be reaped to the full ex- 
tent only by those who retain them unchanged for a considera- 
ble length of time, such securities would, in proportion to their 
amount, be less frequently offered for sale or bought for short 
periods, and therefore would afford less stimulus and nutriment 
to the blind passion for speculation and reckless adventure, 
which has too closely assimilated our stock markets to the 
great gambling-hells which are often appropriately placed close 
beside them. We have had, during our recent civil war, ex- 
emplification of this truth in the fact, that Treasury notes at 
compound interest, though issued to the amount of nearly two 
hundred and twenty millions, and expressly made legal ten- 



80 THE PEEPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

ders, like ordinary money, soon disappeared almost entirely 
from circulation, and were held as the most permanent por- 
tion of their reserves by banks and large capitalists. 

In truth, the creation of this form of stock would answer 
nearly all the purposes, and afford even more than the ordinary 
advantages, of Savings' Banks, Life Insurance offices, and other 
Trust companies, besides offering the most eligible investments 
for the reserve funds of these institutions. The rapid growth 
of these establishments, and the prodigious extent of the field 
already covered by their operations, indicate the commonness 
of the desire, among the industrious and the frugal in our com- 
munity, to invest their savings for accumulation at compound 
interest. To satisfy this desire is the peculiar work which 
such institutions have to do ; but their ordinary expenses are 
considerable, their operations are impeded by rivalry with each 
other, investments once made in them for a fixed period cannot 
be withdrawn without loss, and the security which they afford 
is not always unquestionable. In each of these respects, in- 
vestment in them would be less desirable than in United States 
stock accumulating in the same manner, and with the certainty 
of an equal, or even higher, rate of interest. In transactions 
which may continue for a quarter or half of a century, no pru- 
dent company can bind itself to pay a higher rate than four 
per cent. ; the government would pay four and a half or five 
per cent. What is called an " Endowment policy," the cove- 
nant being to repay the advances at a fixed period, though the 
life may not have terminated, has become a favorite form of 
insurance, the main purpose evidently being to invest savings 
at compound interest for some years, and only a secondary 
one to make provision for others in view of the uncertainty of 
life. An easier, more profitable, and perhaps a safer, mode 
of accomplishing this chief object, would be to purchase, at 
its present value, some future instalment of a government an- 
nuity. 

But the expediency of the proposed system, as it seems to 
me, does not depend on the mere question of immediate pecu- 
niary loss or gain, but on far graver considerations regarding 
the preservation of the public faith, and the evils resulting 
from the perpetuity of a great National Debt. On the whole, 



THE PEKPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 81 

there are the same motives for a government, as for an individ- 
ual, to endeavor to get rid of debt. In itself considered, debt 
is both a discredit and an incumbrance. It detracts from the 
weight and influence of the nation in its relations with foreign 
powers, and nourishes discontent at home, through the long- 
continued pressure of taxation. The trouble and cost of its 
management embarrass the administration, and tend even to 
corrupt and degrade it, through the large increase of its finan- 
cial concerns. If heavily in debt, a country is able to meet the 
exigencies of war only with its right arm in a sling. One rea- 
son why the American people passed comparatively unharmed 
through the fiery trial to which they were recently subjected 
was, that they were not burdened with an oppressive debt at 
the outset. With the great load which they are now carry- 
ing, the recurrence of a calamity similar in kind, though not 
equal in extent, would lead inevitably to a breach of national 
faith and a long train of financial disasters. 

The payment of the interest alone, at six per cent., in little 
over sixteen years, requires the receipt and disbursement of 
as large a sum as the principal. Especially in a republican 
government, where the virtues of simplicity, purity, and fru- 
gality are of high account, being indissolubly linked with the 
preservation of the state, it is of the utmost importance to re- 
strict the sphere of the national finances, and to avert even the 
suspicion of corruption and fraud. The period of the South 
Sea Bubble in England, and of Law's Mississippi scheme in 
France, about 1715, was one not merely of pecuniary ruin, but 
of degradation and shame, both in the councils of the state and 
in private life ; of almost universal forfeiture of reputation and 
self-respect, and a permanent deterioration of the national 
character. The origin and the characteristic feature of both 
these calamitous series of events was gambling in the public 
stocks, incited by the then recent institution of a permanent 
National Debt. The gigantic scale on which our national 
finances have been conducted for the last twenty years appears 
to have exerted an equally disastrous influence on the tone of 
domestic politics, the morals of commerce, and the reputations 
of those who have gathered enormous wealth out of the perils 
and losses of the state. It would be sad to believe that the 



82 THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

burden which brings with it such consequences is fastened 
upon us forever. 

The reason commonly alleged to justify a nation in con- 
tracting a great debt, and postponing indefinitely the time of 
its payment, is, that future generations, as they reap the bene- 
fits and share the security which have been obtained by the 
conflict, may also bear their share of its burdens and cost. We 
have triumphed, not only for ourselves, but for posterity; then 
let posterity help to pay the bill. But this argument, fre- 
quently repeated as it is, is a misconception and a blunder. 
What possible difference does it make to my heirs, whether I 
leave them an estate worth 150,000 burdened with a debt of 
$ 10,000, or an unincumbered property worth $40,000 ? In 
either case, whether the debt is paid off or not, posterity must 
bear their full share of it, either by receiving their whole in- 
heritance thus incumbered, or by receiving a free estate which 
has been cut down in size in order to pay off the incumbrance. 
In fact, the property has been actually expended and destroyed 
in carrying on the war; the powder has been fired off, the 
shells bursted, the fortifications destroyed, the ships and 
houses burned, the men killed. As the population of the coun- 
try can never be so large as it would have been, had not these 
lives been sacrificed ; so its wealth can never be so great as it 
would have been, had not this amount of property been de- 
stroyed. 

Besides, we are not sure what view future generations will 
take of the expediency and justifiableness of the war. If the 
opinion of Englishmen of the present day could be taken, I 
doubt whether a vast majority of them would not declare, that 
the whole war against the French Revolution and the first 
Napoleon, extending from 1793 to 1815, was a blunder and a 
crime. Of what use was it to defeat Napoleon the Great, and 
banish him to St. Helena, at the cost of a million or two of 
lives and six hundred millions sterling of debt, when they 
coolly allowed Napoleon the Little, with a much inferior title 
and character, to take his uncle's place on the throne, and even 
entered into an entente cordiale with him to insure his posses- 
sion of it ? Take another example. Probable every sane man 
in England, acquainted with the facts, would now frankly con- 



THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 83 

fess, that the war of the American Revolution, on the part of 
his ancestors, was unjustifiable and inexpedient from begin- 
ning to end. Yet this war added one hundred and twenty 
millions sterling to the English National Debt ; and as the 
joint result of these two wars, all the laboring men in Great 
Britain (four fifths of the whole population, be it remem- 
bered), who inherited nothing from their ancestors but the right 
to work and to be taxed, are now held to pay more than twice 
its natural price for every mug of beer, and every cup of tea or 
coffee, which they drink ; till recently, and through a long 
series of years, they were heavily taxed on every loaf of bread 
which they ate. I do wrong to say that they inherited nothing. 
They inherited a country so enfeebled and disheartened by 
the National Debt entailed upon it by these two insensate and 
unrighteous conflicts, that it does not venture now to go to war, 
even in a just cause, with any power on the European conti- 
nent. 

We may not fear the judgment of posterity about the recent 
war of the Rebellion ; for the abolition of slavery alone, which 
it has brought about, is a great good and a possession forever, 
not for this country only, but for the civilized world. And yet, 
if the question should be asked, fifty or sixty years hence, why, 
without going to war and destroying half a million of lives, we 
did not peacefully purchase the liberty of every slave on the 
continent, and furnish him also with a lot of ground large 
enough to support himself and family, — a measure for which 
the four thousand millions spent by the North alone on the war 
would have been more than sufficient, — if this question, I say, 
should be then asked, perhaps it is well that posterity, and not 
the men of this generation, will have to answer it. Turn the 
matter as we may, war is both a great evil and a great sin. 
" From whence," asks the Apostle, — " from whence come 
wars and fighting among you ? Come they not hence, even of 
your lusts that war in your members ? " But for the feelings 
of bitter hostility between North and South, nursed by the 
arts of ambitious and reckless politicians, slavery might have 
been bought out, instead of being fought out, of existence, with- 
out bringing death into almost every family in the land, and 
shaking the civilized world as with an earthquake. Distribute 



84 THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

the guilt as we may between the two parties to the conflict, — 
of course, the victors believe the South were ten times as 
guilty as they were, — still there was guilt and shame on both 
sides in bringing about hostilities. With this view of the 
case, — a view not improbable to be taken half a century hence, 
though it may be unpalatable now, — we can imagine posterity 
turning a deaf ear to our entreaties that they should help us in 
paying the bill for the fight. 

But there is a graver argument against allowing an indefi- 
nite, or even a long, continuance of the pecuniary obligations 
contracted during a war. A funded National Debt is a mort- 
gage upon the labor of posterity ; for it is out of the fruits of 
the national labor alone that the annual interest, or any por- 
tion of the principal, can be paid. But to mortgage the right 
of our descendants to enjoy the fruits of their own industry is 
a violation, not only of all natural, but of all municipal law. 
No code on earth authorizes me to bind my son or grandson 
to pay my debts, except to the extent to which I leave him 
property wherewith to make such payment. Granted, if you 
will (though grave reasons will soon be offered for refusing 
even this concession), that a portion — comparatively a small 
portion — will inherit from us houses and lands and personal 
property ; and that they may rightly be held to pay, to the ex- 
tent of the wealth thus inherited. Still you have no right to 
mortgage the labor of those — vastly more than a majority of 
the whole number — who inherit nothing but a stout pair of 
arms and a cunning brain. On what grounds can we bind 
these men of the future to pay our debts, seeing that they 
were not born when those debts were contracted, and have in- 
herited nothing from those by whose prodigality, vindictive- 
ness, sloth, and sin these debts have been accumulated ? And 
what will your mortgage on the future amount to, if these men 
and their descendants, and all the wealth which they and 
theirs have since amassed by their own honest industry, are 
exempted from it ? Family property in this country does not 
last long; wealth is here* found chiefly in the hands of those 
who have earned it — have, in fact, created it — by their own 
exertions. Pass a period of forty or fifty years only, and far 
the greater part of the property in the country will be found 



THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 85 

to be owned by those on whom there rests not the shadow of 
an obligation to pay our debts. 

This doctrine is so far from being novel, that, till within 
two hundred years, it was admitted by all nations, and was 
incorporated into all their codes of law. Debts were univer- 
sally regarded as strictly personal, or incapable of transmis- 
sion by inheritance. A promise to pay could bind nobody but 
him who voluntarily made the promise, and had received and 
consumed the equivalent for which he made it. Towards the 
close of the seventeenth century, it suited the policy, or rather 
the war-passion, of the governing classes in France and Eng- 
land to invent the theory and practice of a perpetual debt. 1 
And there was a certain consistency in such conduct on their 
part ; since they held that their government, as then consti- 
tuted, existed by divine right, so that political authority and 
obligation were transmissible by descent to future generations. 
But the first principle of our republican institutions is, that 
there is no such political inheritance, but that each generation 
has an inalienable right to alter its whole frame of govern- 
ment, so as to adapt it to their present wants and desires. We 
cannot bind posterity, then, either by our political acts, or by 
the pecuniary obligations that are based upon such political 
action, any more than the superstructure can be preserved 
after the foundations have been dug away. And we cannot 
incumber what we have no power to alienate; a tenant for 
life only cannot mortgage the estate except during the period 
of his tenancy. The whole earth, with everything upon it, 
descends by necessary and perpetual entail to the generations 
which are to come after us ; and no act of ours can impair the 
entirety of their ownership, restrict the scope of their industry, 

1 Speaking of William Pitt, Professor Golclwin Smith observes : " He ought to 
have felt more strongly the injustice of laying burdens on other generations 
without their own consent. In barbarous ages, when people went to war, 
they fought for themselves. Civilization taught them to hire, impress, or kidnap 
other people to fight for them. Still there was a check on war while those who 
made it had to pay. Taxation of the present was confined within narrow limits ; 
it provoked unpleasant outcries, sometimes it provoked resistance. So the expe- 
dient was hit upon of taxing the mute and unresisting future. The system was 
perfected by degrees. At first, the government only anticipated payments which 
they might, with some color of reason, call their own. Then they mortgaged 
particular sources of revenue. Funding with us dates from William III." 



86 THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

or deprive them of any portion of its fruits. Since we cannot 
disinherit them, neither can we burden their inheritance. The 
opposite doctrine would have this absurd consequence, that it 
would enable us to enslave posterity altogether ; for if an in- 
herited obligation can take away a part, it can alienate the 
whole, both of their political freedom and the fruits of their 
personal industry. The theory of a perpetual debt affixes no 
limitation to its amount ; if the burden can be transmitted at 
all, it can be made heavy enough to deprive future labor of 
the whole of its reward. 

This is not only the true republican doctrine ; we have a 
right to call it also the established American policy. The 
United States, hitherto, have always paid off their war debt 
within the lifetime of those who fought. The Revolutionary 
Debt was, in fact, fully discharged at least as early as 1817 ; 
for the National Debt still existing in that year ought to be 
considered as resulting from the purchase of Louisiana in 
1803, and from the war of 1812. This last debt was still 
more rapidly extinguished, for no portion of it remained un- 
paid in 1835. The country was then entirely free from debt, 
and found itself even incumbered with a surplus income. 
Thus far, also, we have been paying off the enormous debt 
contracted during the Great Rebellion at a rate which, if con- 
tinued, would insure its extinction in less than one generation. 
In July, 1866, it exceeded 2,783 millions ; in February, 1870, 
it was less than 2,445 millions, thus showing an average annual 
diminution of about ninety-six millions. During the next ten 
years, the annual reduction was only about half as great, since 
the amount of the debt, in February, 1880, was about 2,000 
millions. Still, with the aid of the Sinking Fund, which is now 
established by law, the whole remainder will be extinguished 
in about thirty years from this time. It must be remembered, 
also, that no portion of this debt contracted during our great 
civil war was ever funded on the perpetual-annuity plan. All 
the loans were originally contracted either for short fixed 
periods, such as three or five years, or were the so-called " Five- 
Twenties," or " Ten-Forties " ; that is, the periods of the loan 
were not less than five, or more than twenty years ; or not 
less than ten, or more than forty years. It is evident, then, 



THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 87 

that the established American plan of finance, unlike the Eu- 
ropean perpetual-annuity plan, requires the whole of a war 
debt to be paid off during the lifetime of the generation which 
contracted it. 

The argument in fayor of the American plan is forcibly- 
stated by Mr. Jefferson, in a letter written about four years 
after the close of his presidency. " It is a wise rule," he says, 
" and should be fundamental in a government disposed to 
cherish its credit, and at the same time to restrain the use of 
it within the limits of its faculties, never to borrow a dollar 
without laying a tax in the same instant for paying the inter- 
est annually, and the principal within a given term ; and to 
consider that tax as pledged to the creditors on the public 
faith. On such a pledge as this, sacredly observed, a govern- 
ment may always command, on a reasonable interest, all the 
lendable money of its citizens. But the term of redemption 
must be moderate, and at any rate within the limit of its 
rightful powers. But what is that limit ? What is to hinder 
them from creating a perpetual debt? I answer, the laws of 
nature. The earth belongs to the living, not to the dead. 
The will and power of man expire with his life by nature's 
law. The generations of men may be considered as bodies or 
corporations. Each generation has the usufruct [the life use 
and enjoyment] of the earth during the period of its continu- 
ance. When it ceases to exist, that usufruct passes on to the 
next generation free and unincumbered ; and so on, from one 
generation to another, forever. We may consider each gener- 
ation as a distinct nation, with a right by the will of a major- 
ity to bind themselves, but none to bind the succeeding gener- 
ations, any more than to bind the inhabitants of another 
country. Or the case may be likened to the ordinary one of a 
tenant for life, who may hypothecate the land for his debts dur- 
ing the continuance of his usufruct ; but at his death, the rever- 
sioner, who also is for life only, receives it exonerated from all 
burdens." 

As, then, the mere surface of the earth, which alone, among 
all human possessions, is permanent and not subject to de- 
cay, necessarily descends free and unincumbered to subsequent 
generations, so, for a still stronger reason, all movable articles 



88 THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

of value, which, in addition to the land, constitute the whole 
wealth of the community, and which are not permanent, but 
decay or are consumed within the lifetime of those by whose 
labor they were created, belong exclusively to the living. The 
dead have no .control over them, and no right of ownership in 
them, because they contributed nothing to the industry by 
which these things received their valuable qualities, or became 
articles of wealth. It is now universally admitted as one of 
the first principles of Political Economy, that wealth must be 
perpetually renewed, or it is quickly used up and disappears. 
The stock of national wealth may be compared to the flesh, 
blood, and bones of a man's body, which are in a state of con- 
stant flux and renovation, being entirely renewed, the physiol- 
ogists say, about once in seven years. The harvest of one year 
is mainly consumed before that of the next year is reaped ; 
certainly, before three years have passed, hardly a vestige of 
it remains. All our domestic animals are shorter lived than 
their owners. Even the tools and implements of husbandry 
are worn out and abandoned in much less time than a genera- 
tion. The fashion and the fabric of all manufactured goods 
quickly pass away ; our clothes wear out, furniture is spoiled 
or thrust away as obsolete and inconvenient ; houses become 
dilapidated, or are kept in repair at an annual expense which, 
in thirty years, exceeds their first cost of construction. If men 
did not labor meanwhile to renovate and build anew, they 
would soon be reduced to the condition of savages, even if 
they did not perish altogether. 

Look around upon the material wealth of Boston, and ask 
how much of it was in existence, and in its present form, in 
the days of General Jackson's presidency. The railroad wealth 
of this country, now computed to exceed in value 4,000 mil- 
lions of dollars, has been entirely created by the industry of 
the people since 1835. On what pretext, then, could it be 
held that this property would be liable for the debts of men 
who lived before 1835, especially if the debts were contracted 
for the prosecution of a war now generally regarded as impol- 
itic and unjust? How much of this wealth will descend un- 
impaired to the men of the next century ? Though railroads 
and canals are among the most permanent works of man, the 



THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 89 

annual cost of their repairs is so great, that, if allowed to accu- 
mulate as an annuity at compound interest, before 1910, the 
aggregate would doubtless exceed their present worth ; or, if 
left unrepaired, long before that time they would become 
worthless. 

''Everything which is produced," says Mr. John S. Mill, 
" is consumed ; both what is saved and what is said to be 
spent ; and the former quite as rapidly as the latter. All the 
ordinary forms of language tend to disguise this. When men 
talk of the ancient wealth of a country, of riches inherited 
from ancestors, and similar expressions, the idea suggested is, 
that the riches so transmitted were produced long ago, at the 
time when they are said to have been first acquired, and that 
no portion of the capital of the country was produced this 
year, except as much as may have been this year added to the 
total amount. The fact is far otherwise. The greater part in 
value of the wealth now existing in England has been pro- 
duced by human hands within the last twelve months. A 
very small proportion indeed of that large aggregate was in 
existence ten years ago ; of the present productive capital of 
the country scarcely any part, except farm houses and fac- 
tories, and a few ships and machines ; and even these would 
not, in most cases, have survived so long, if fresh labor had 
not been employed within that period in putting them into re- 
pair. The land subsists, and the land is almost the only thing 
that subsists. Everything which is produced perishes, and 
most things very quickly." If there are a few works of art 
which endure, such as the pyramids, Westminster Abbey, 
painting, and statues, they are objects devoted to unproduc- 
tive use or mere enjoyment ; they are not capital designed for 
the creation of more wealth. Buildings applied to industrial 
purposes " do not hold out against wear and tear, nor is it 
good economy to construct them of the solidity necessary for 
permanency. Capital is kept in existence from age to age, not 
by preservation, but by perpetual reproduction ; every part of 
it is used and destroyed, generally very soon after it is pro- 
duced; but those who consume it are employed meanwhile in 
producing more." 

I say, then, that no generation of men can bequeath debts 



90 THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

to its successors, because it leaves theui no property wherewith 
to pay those debts. For thirty-three years, the supposed life- 
time of a generation, it is admitted that public pecuniary obli- 
gations continue in full force ; after that period, they are dis- 
solved and finally wiped out by a Statute of Limitations 
enacted by Nature, in accordance with the first principles of 
justice ; because all the wealth of the country, with exceptions 
too trifling to be noticed, will then be in the hands of men who 
have created it by their own labor, and who were not parties 
to the contract in which the debts originated, and did not 
assent to the war which rendered those debts necessary. No 
government on earth, which professes, as the American govern- 
ment does, to be merely an expression of the will and authority 
of the people now living under it, has a shadow of a right to 
impose political or pecuniary burdens upon, or to pledge the 
faith of, the government which is to fill its place more than 
thirty years hence. This is not pleading in favor of the re- 
pudiation of debt, than which no greater national sin is con- 
ceivable, except that of an unjust or unnecessary war ; but it is 
a plea in favor of paying the debt as promptly as possible. 
The guilt and the odium of repudiation should be thrown, 
where they rightfully belong, upon the men of the present 
day, if they do not pay off to the last penny, within their own 
lifetime, the debt contracted in that war which they alone 
undertook, and in which they alone triumphed. 

But the question, after all, is a practical one. In whatever 
manner, or on whatever plea, they may seek relief, there can 
be no doubt that our countrymen of the next generation will 
refuse to bear the burden of a great hereditary National Debt. 
The property of the stock inevitably gravitates to those por- 
tions of the country where capital is relatively abundant, and 
the rates of profit and interest are low. In a few years, four 
fifths of the bonds will be owned in the northern Atlantic 
States or in Europe, while more than half the taxes will have 
to be paid by the States at the South and West which possess 
the other fifth. Holding more than half of the political power, 
how long will the latter consent to be heavily taxed, in order 
to pay the annual charge of a debt originating in a war in 
which their own immediate ancestors had either little direct 



THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 91 

share, or an adverse interest ? The present population of 
Oregon and California, at the worst, had not much to fear 
from the issue of the conflict, and made comparatively few 
efforts or sacrifices to bring it to a close. Even the great evil 
which produced the strife hardly concerned them. At a dis- 
tance of three thousand miles from slavery in the Southern 
States, and from serfdom in Russia, they could safely repeat 
the scornful exclamation of the Scotch Campbells, " It is a far 
cry to Lochow." Still less will the people of Nevada, Idaho, 
and the whole cluster of States which will soon surround them, 
be inclined, a generation hence, to support their portion of the 
common burden. The wealth which they will then have will 
surely be of their own creation, for even yet it has hardly be- 
gun to exist. By what right, they will ask, can our present 
industry be impeded and deprived of its just reward, in order 
to support a debt created a generation ago by a civil war 
among the people east of the Mississippi ? Such questions it 
will be easy to ask, and we cannot doubt how they will be an- 
swered. 

As the result of all these considerations, — and there is 
terrible force in some of them, — it seems of the utmost im- 
portance to make provision for paying off the debt within the 
lifetime of the generation that contracted it. It can be done, 
either on the plan here proposed, or by some other method, 
without lessening by one dollar the inheritance of those who 
are to come after us. As already shown, it will be the same 
thing to the heirs whether the estate descends to them in its 
present size, burdened with this debt, or unincumbered, but 
made smaller, by its payment. I know the idea of repudiation 
is unpopular now ; take the vote to-morrow, and not one in a 
thousand will vote in favor of it. But we cannot answer for 
the future, for the men of 1900, especially if a train of such 
disasters should come upon them as we experienced in the com- 
mercial crises in 1837, in 1840, and again in 1857. To be en- 
tirely free from debt is the most efficient preparation that can 
be made for all the exigencies of the future, whether political 
or pecuniary. 

The value absorbed in loans raised at home is so much with- 
drawn from the capital employed in aiding productive industry 



92 THE PERPETUITY OF NATIONAL DEBT. 

within the country. This is an argument, which is strongly 
urged by Dr. Chalmers and Mr. J. S. Mill, in favor of raising 
within the year the whole of the supplies needed for war pur- 
poses, instead of obtaining them by an increase of the National 
Debt. Whatever is spent unproductively, they say, cannot but 
be drawn from capital or yearly income. " The whole and 
every part of the wealth existing in the country forms, or helps 
to form, the yearly income of somebody. The privation which 
it is supposed must result from taking the amount in the shape 
of taxes is not avoided by taking it in a loan. The suffering is 
not averted, but only thrown upon the laboring classes, — the 
least able, and who least ought, to bear it; while all the in- 
conveniences, physical, moral, and political, produced by main- 
taining taxes for the perpetual payment of the interest, are 
incurred in pure loss. Whenever capital is withdrawn from 
production, or from the fund destined for production, to be lent 
to the state and expended unproductively, that whole sum is 
withheld from the laboring classes ; the loan, therefore, is in 
truth paid off the same year by these classes ; the whole of the 
sacrifice necessary for paying it off is actually made ; only it is 
paid to the wrong persons, and therefore does not extinguish 
the claim ; and paid by the very worst of taxes, — a tax ex- 
clusively on the laboring class. And after having, in this most 
painful and unjust of ways, gone through the whole effort 
necessary for extinguishing the debt, the country remains 
charged with it, and with the payment of its interest, in per- 
petuity." 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 

A LECTURE DELIVERED BEFORE THE LOWELL INSTITUTE IN BOSTON, IN 
NOVEMBER, 1865. 1 

The war of the Great Rebellion, through which this country 
has recently passed, was in many respects unparalleled in his- 
tory. It was waged on a larger scale, with greater armies in 
the field, over a larger extent of territory, and with a more 
lavish expenditure of blood and treasure, than any European 
war of modern times. The means and enginery with which 
it was carried on were, for the m6st part, novel or untried in 
actual warfare. Our ships and artillery, indeed, were to a 
considerable extent invented by ourselves while the war was 
in progress. The people of the North, numbering only twenty 
millions, and being thus almost exactly equal to the popula- 
tion of England alone, not including Scotland or Ireland, main- 
tained an army which, during the period of active operations 
in the field, was seldom less than half a million in number, 
and during the last eighteen months of the war, probably 
amounted to eight hundred thousand men constantly under 
arms. Our navy, built in great part after hostilities com- 
menced, numbered at last over six hundred and fifty vessels of 
war, mounting about five thousand guns, many of which were 

1 Some of the topics considered in this paper have ceased to be of immediate 
interest and importance, and it may seem unwise to renew the discussion of them 
at this late day. But it is not my purpose to revive an obsolete debate. The 
article is inserted here partly as a contribution to history, as a record of the feel- 
ings and reflections of the people of the North in looking back upon the great oc- 
currences of the war which were then fresh in the memory ; and partly as an at- 
tempt to preserve those teachings of experience in respect to the principles of 
finance and the great truths of Political Economy, which may be set forth through 
a criticism of the management of the finances during this memorable contest. It 
is only necessary to remember that the paper was written less than six months 
after the surrender of General Lee's army, which was virtually the end of the 



94 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 

of much larger calibre than had ever been put afloat before. 
The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, when it 
put forward its greatest energies during the last year of the 
war against Napoleon, its population then consisting of eight- 
een millions, had but two hundred and twenty thonsand men 
in its regular army ; and even if the regular militia, who never 
visited the scene of active operations, be added, the aggregate 
hardly exceeded three hundred thousand. 

The task which the vast armaments of the North had to per- 
form was the entire subjugation of at least eight millions of 
whites, who were fed, and to a considerable degree supported, 
by four millions of slaves. The disparity of numbers was cer- 
tainly great in favor of the Free States. But it must be re- 
membered that, in any war, the party which acts merely upon 
the defensive has an immense advantage ; and this advantage 
was especially great on the side of the Confederates, owing to 
the vast extent of their territory. The area of the Slave 
States, not including Maryland or Delaware, exceeds eight 
hundred and thirty thousand square miles, and is therefore 
about equal in magnitude to the whole of Great Britain, 
France, Austria, Spain, and Italy united. With the exception 
of Texas, the whole of this vast region was penetrated and 
overrun by the armies of the North. While this aggressive 
movement was going on, it was necessary to guard against a 
counter invasion a frontier line extending from the eastern 
limits of Kansas to the mouth of the Chesapeake, a distance of 
over thirteen hundred miles. A coast line over thirty-five 
hundred miles in length had to be blockaded, and the long 
reach of the Mississippi River below Cairo had to be opened, 
and kept open, through a hostile territory. 

The difficulty of overrunning the vast country of the enemy 
was much increased by the sparseness of the population, by 
the large tracts of hills and forests, and especially by the want 
of good roads. European generals, accustomed to conduct 
campaigns only through the populous regions of the Low 
Countries, France, and central Europe, where the ground is 
perfectly cultivated, the crops are abundant, and numerous and 
excellent highways afford every facility for the movements of 
heavy columns of troops in any direction, would have been dis- 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 95 

heartened at the very thought of leading a great army through 
such wild districts, in the face of an enemy acquainted with 
every foot of the ground, and finding firm allies in every log 
cabin. The very name of the region within which were fought 
two of the most sanguinary battles of the war, " the Wilder- 
ness," suggests the great difficulties which our generals had to 
encounter. In truth, the greater part of the ground which the 
army of the Potomac fought over, from the beginning to the 
end of the war, was little more than a wilderness, intersected 
not by roads, but by muddy cowpaths. East Tennessee, in 
particular, is a vast natural fortress, entirely surrounded by 
great ranges of mountains, which even our best troops might 
have found impregnable, if some loyal hearts and stout hands 
had not luckily dwelt there among the hills. Little use could 
be made, under such circumstances, of the tactics and strategy 
of the Old World; a new science of war had to be invented 
for the occasion. Railroads and navigable streams formed, it 
is true, avenues of approach to some important points in the 
heart of the enemy's country. But these were comparatively 
few in number, separated by vast intervals from each other, 
and difficult, if not impossible, to be guarded along their im- 
mense length against a hostile population. It was not till the 
genius of one of our military leaders, who has fairly earned his 
place among the most illustrious generals either of ancient or 
modern times, devised and executed a plan for quitting these 
lines of operation, abandoning all connection with a base of 
supplies, and striking off through the centre of the enemy's 
vast territory on a devastating march, the length and breadth 
of which reduced even Napoleon's campaign in Russia almost 
to insignificance, that the problem of completely subjugating a 
great and determined nation, inhabiting a country of vast ex- 
tent and boundless resources of defence, can be said to have 
been fairly solved. Other captains have known how to win 
great battles ; but Sherman was the first to accomplish what 
great authorities had declared to be impossible, — to thor- 
oughly subdue a whole people. 

I have thus briefly alluded to the magnitude and difficulties 
of the war, in order to account for that feature of it which be- 
longs directly to our subject, — the enormous expense at which 



96 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 

it was carried on. Here, again, history fails to afford any par- 
allel to the facts which we have to consider. It had long been 
the boast of our people, that we had nothing which deserved 
to be called a National Debt ; that ours was the cheapest gov- 
ernment on earth, and, as a consequence, that we were more 
lightly taxed than any other people. Perhaps these assertions 
were not strictly true, though there was more foundation for 
them than there usually is for national boasts. They were 
true in the main, so far as concerns the National government 
alone ; but taking the aggregate of our National, State, and 
municipal institutions, they require considerable qualification. 
The burden of municipal taxation has long been heavy, espe- 
cially if we regard great cities, such as Boston and New York ; 
and the grand total of public debt, including that of the in- 
dividual States, as well as of the cities and towns, was by no 
means inconsiderable. Perhaps the chief reason of the heavy 
expense was, that in this country we have always assumed to 
do more at the public charge than elsewhere, and to leave less 
to individual enterprise. Thus we educate the whole people 
at the public cost, and our States and municipalities have aided 
enterprises of internal improvement and general charit}^ more, 
perhaps, than was prudent. But however this may have been 
formerly, it is certain that we now [1865] have very different 
reasons for self-complacency. If inclined to boast at all, and 
it would be unreasonable to expect that we should immediately 
overcome the force of long habit in this respect, we must now 
congratulate ourselves that, during the last four years, we have 
spent money at a rate for which no precedent can be found on 
record, and that we are now the most heavily taxed people on 
earth. 

Hitherto, the heaviest and most rapidly accumulated Na- 
tional Debt was that of Great Britain. At the beginning of 
the great contest with France, in 1793, this debt amounted 
to about two hundred and fifty millions sterling, having been 
recently more than doubled in amount by the war of the 
American Revolution. When the contest was ended by the 
final downfall of Napoleon, in 1815, the debt had risen to 
about eight hundred and fifty millions, being an accumulation 
of over six hundred millions sterling, or somewhat less than 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 97 

three thousand millions of dollars, in twenty-two years. In 
the spring of 1861, the United States owed only seventy-five 
millions of dollars ; in the summer of 1865, if we include out- 
standing claims and certificates of indebtedness, they owed 
little less than three thousand millions. In other words, dur- 
ing the four years of the contest, we incurred almost precisely 
the same amount of debt which England did during the 
twenty-two years of her struggle against the French Revolu- 
tion and the Emperor Napoleon. We ran in debt over five 
times as fast. This is not all. During the same four years, 
the individual States of the North, together with the cities 
and towns, were obliged to effect heavy loans in order to fill 
their quotas, and for other purposes of the war. Massachu- 
setts alone thus increased her debt from less than two, to more 
than twenty, millions. The aggregate of these State and mu- 
nicipal debts, a considerable portion of which may be ulti- 
mately paid by the general government, cannot now be esti- 
mated ; but there can be little doubt that the aggregate 
indebtedness of the American people in their collective capac- 
ity now equals that of the United Kingdom of Great Britain 
and Ireland. Of course, on account of the higher rates of 
interest as yet paid, the annual charge of our debt is consid- 
erably larger than that of the English. The largest expendi- 
ture of the British government during any one year of the 
war with France was about five hundred and fifty millions of 
dollars ; of our government, during the civil war, it was at 
least one thousand millions. 

These facts are certainly of great interest and significance ; 
if it were not for our deep and lasting conviction of the im- 
measurable importance of the cause for which the people gladly 
took this immense burden upon themselves and their poster- 
ity, it might even be said that they are appalling. The tran- 
sition has been so sudden and overwhelming, that it is dif- 
ficult at this early day to measure its extent, or to estimate 
fairly its nature and consequences. I shall not attempt to 
conceal, or even to palliate, any of the evils of this great 
change in our financial condition. At the same time, a fair 
view of the whole case, under the light of those great prin- 
ciples of economical and political science, which are now fully 



98 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 

established in theory and verified by the experience of the 
civilized world during the last two or three centuries, will 
suggest many reasons why we should not look upon the fut- 
ure either with dread or despondency. A great National 
Debt is undeniably a great evil ; and the heavy taxation which 
it inevitably produces, if not the most serious, is certainly the 
most annoying, of all drawbacks upon national prosperity. 
Hitherto, in this country, our boast has been that we were 
free from all great burdens imposed by the government; in 
future, if we boast at all, it must be that we are able to bear 
immense burdens without flinching. Hitherto, with us, the 
tax-gatherer has been but an infrequent visitant, and one whose 
hunger was easily appeased. At present, we are doomed to 
meet him at every turn, to find him prying into all our con- 
cerns, and interfering with every employment which we can 
take up. Almost every time that any person, in the ordinary 
transaction of business, signs his name, he must affix to it a 
stamp of greater or less cost. We are taxed for our food and 
drink ; for the clothes that we wear ; for the books and news- 
papers that we read ; for the fuel, gas, and oil that we burn; 
for our medicines when we are sick, and our diversions when 
we are well. To adopt in part Sydney Smith's lively illustra- 
tion, the baby must be rocked in a taxed cradle, and the old 
man must sleep at last in a taxed grave. 

It cannot be denied that all this is a severe discouragement 
to industry and enterprise. Suppose the aggregate weight of 
the taxes to be not more than five per cent, of the total annual 
product of the labor of our people, — a supposition which is 
probably below the truth. Then the effect of imposing these 
taxes is, not merely as if a blight had suddenly fallen on the 
whole land and swept off one twentieth of the whole crop; 
but, as the evil is renewed each successive year, it is as if all 
the fields were struck with partial but lasting sterility, so as 
to be rendered incapable for many years of yielding more than 
nineteen bushels, where they formerly yielded twenty. The 
proceeds of all our mines, fisheries, manufactories, and indus- 
trial undertakings, are diminished in the same proportion. 
To this extent, also, prices must generally rise and wages fall. 
As Adam Smith remarks, heavy taxes on necessaries become 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAE. 99 

" a curse equal to the barrenness of the soil and the inclem- 
ency of the climate." Labor is rendered less productive, and 
accumulation more slow and difficult. Our annual burden is 
now so great, that with all the care which can be exercised in 
its apportionment and distribution, a large portion of it must 
fall on necessaries, and a still larger part, on the ordinary com- 
forts of life. It cannot all be placed on silks, fine linens, per- 
sonal ornaments, costly furniture, and the like ; for such com- 
modities form but a small fraction of the aggregate expenditure 
of our people, and if the assessment upon them is made exor- 
bitant, it becomes prohibitory, and the consumption falls off 
so much that the revenue is not benefited more than it would 
be by a lighter rate. Accordingly, tea, coffee, sugar, tobacco, 
and the coarser and more common manufactures of cotton, 
wool, and iron, must be assessed, as they have been, with no 
sparing hand. And for clerks, most clergymen, small mechan- 
ics, even common laborers, such taxes become oppressive, and 
often entail severe privation. Tobacco is a luxury, it may be 
said ; so it is, for the rich ; but for large classes of the poor, 
long habit has rendered it a necessary, though perhaps a per- 
nicious, indulgence. 

It is a common but delusive mode of estimating the weight 
of taxation, to compare its amount with the total annual prod- 
uct of the national industry ; and on finding that it bears but 
a small proportion to this product, — in the case that I have 
supposed, only five per cent., — to jump to the conclusion that 
it may be very easily borne. But it must be remembered, that 
the whole nation must be supported for a year out of this an- 
nual product, much the larger portion of it being thus neces- 
sarily consumed in supplying us with food, drink, clothing, and 
shelter till new products can be created. It is only from the 
savings of income, from the surplus of the annual product 
over this necessary annual expenditure, that capital can be 
accumulated and wealth increased. Now this surplus is rela- 
tively small ; for a very large class, it is nothing ; they spend 
as fast and as much as they earn or receive. For most of 
the remainder, — that is, for those who are really frugal, or 
" money-getting," as we term them, and on whom the whole 
progress of the community in opulence must depend, this sur- 



100 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAE. 

plus cannot exceed on an average ten per cent. Now five per 
cent, on the annual product takes away just half of this resi- 
due, and thereby makes the accumulation of capital only half 
as rapid as it was before the imposition of the tax. In truth, 
the diminution is more than half ; because frugality itself is 
discouraged when half of its reward is taken away. Men save 
less, and become apathetic in respect to .the future. The very 
sources of national prosperity are partially dried up. 

To these evils of a great National Debt and heavy taxation 
must be added their demoralizing effect upon the politics of 
the country and the character of the people. Large financial 
operations by the government multiply the temptation and the 
openings for intrigue and fraud, and cause the results of these 
evil practices to be far more injurious to the great interests of 
the nation. On this account, I fear that what may be called 
the heroic age of the Republic is past and gone. Hencefor- 
ward the virtues of simplicity, frugality, and a disinterested 
patriotism are to be of less account and more infrequent oc- 
currence in our national concerns. When every financial act 
by Congress and every movement by the United States Treas- 
ury, through its inevitable effects upon the stock market, must 
cause millions — even tens and hundreds of millions — to be 
lost or won, we may expect the whole machinery of political 
management, official corruption, and party strife to be brought 
into large and vigorous action. The contest of opposing fac- 
tions will not, perhaps, be fiercer, but it will be far more sordid. 
The struggle will be to determine, not merely who shall be 
fed at the public crib, but among whom the whole contents of 
the barn shall be distributed. The battle will be waged more 
furiously, and with less scruple as to the amount of harm done 
to great national interests, because the rewards of victory will 
be immense. Unless a higher and better class of statesmen 
can be found, and raised to stations of great public trust, than 
those who have too frequently of late years disgraced our na- 
tional councils, I fear a marked deterioration of the character 
of our government and the political habits of the people. 

I have endeavored to state these evils in the present and 
future state of our financial affairs frankly, and yet without 
exaggeration, in order to prepare the way for regarding the 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 101 

other side of the picture. Make what allowance for them we 
may, there is still much reason for looking back with pride, 
and forward without despondency. The evils of a vast National 
Debt and a heavy system of taxation are great ; but they are 
the price which we have paid for a restored and strengthened 
Union, and for striking off the fetters from four millions of 
slaves; and I believe the price is not exorbitant. Hencefor- 
ward, whatever blame foreigners may impute to us, they can- 
not cast "slavery" in our teeth. We have wiped off the only 
great blot on our national escutcheon, and that, too, at a cost, 
a sacrifice, which must forever redeem our people from the 
reproach of being a generation of dollar-hunters. And the 
exertions through which we have accomplished this great good 
have established the position of this country as the first mili- 
tary and naval power in the world. Certainly no kingdom or 
empire in Europe could fit out and maintain such armaments 
as we have kept up for four years, could wage so many and 
so desperate conflicts with them, could overrun so vast a ter- 
ritory, and come out of the protracted struggle at last with 
so few tokens of exhaustion. Russia alone has perhaps as 
great defensive power, though her means of offence are less, 
and her maritime power must always be comparatively insig- 
nificant. Moreover, Russian statesmen have long recognized 
the truth, that their country and the United States are natural 
allies, with no possible cause of opposition or rivalry, and with 
every inducement to peace and friendship. Alone among all 
the powers of Europe, Russia has manifested full sympathy 
with our Northern States throughout the Great Rebellion ; and 
with her for an ally or a friendly neutral, America has hence- 
forward no cause to fear the world in arms. 

Of course, we all desire that the great advantage thus gained 
may be used only for defensive purposes. 

" It is excellent 
To have a giant's strength ; but 't is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant." 

It is an advantage to have firmly established for the future 
our right to be let alone. It is no satisfaction to a right-mean- 
ing man to know, that he is strong enough to be able to bully 
others with impunity ; but our recent experience has taught 



102 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAE. 

us that it may be a great satisfaction to know that we cannot 
safely be bullied. At the time of the affair of the Trent, Mr. 
Bright reminded the English ministers in Parliament, that it 
was no great proof either of strength or manliness to threaten 
a man who had his right arm in a sling. Perhaps even the 
" Times " newspaper may by this time have some doubts, 
whether it would be perfectly safe for England to bully the 
United States, even if the right arm of the latter country be 
in a sling. 

The war has given us a consciousness of our own strength ; 
but there is little reason to fear that it has so far established 
military habits among the people, or so far developed in them 
a love of strife and a thirst for military adventure, as to render 
it difficult in future to maintain peace with other nations. On 
the contrary, our immense army of volunteers hailed with joy 
the close of hostilities, not merely because the cause for which 
they fought had triumphed, but because it announced that 
their services were no longer needed, and they were at liberty 
to go home and resume their former occupations. Those regi- 
ments deemed themselves most fortunate who were the first to 
be disbanded ; all were in a hurry to leave the battle-field and 
the camp behind them. So it must always be. However it 
may be in the Old World, in a country like ours a soldier's 
life has but few attractions, as there is no difficulty in finding 
easier and more profitable employment at home, among the 
varied pursuits of peace. The extinction of slavery has re- 
moved all desire for the annexation of foreign lands. We have 
enough to do to cultivate the territory which already belongs 
to us; Canada or Mexico would be only a burden, and the 
possession of either might imperil the Union which we have 
fought to reestablish. 

For these and other reasons, it does not seem probable that 
a large standing army will ever be necessary for our protec- 
tion. The country will find no unprovoked assailants, for the 
military and naval reputation which it has acquired will be an 
abundant safeguard, even if its last fortress should be disman- 
tled. The history of the Great Rebellion, while it shows the 
priceless importance of military and naval training-schools, 
like West Point and the Naval Academy, seems to me to dein- 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 103 

onstrate the inutility of great standing armies. What regular 
troops we had at the outset accomplished nothing; the war 
was really fought and the "victory achieved by volunteers. 
Besides, for many years to come, we may be said to possess 
already a powerful veteran army. In one sense, the troops of 
Grant, Sherman, and Thomas, — aye, and of Johnston and 
Lee, — are not disbanded ; they have only gone home on fur- 
lough. Should any real emergency arise, the first bugle-call 
would bring the larger portion of them again into the field. 
A few black troops may be needed to garrison the forts along 
the Southern Atlantic and the Gulf coasts ; and a regular 
army no larger than we had before the war may still be main- 
tained, as before, to perform the functions of a military police. 
But the expensive folly of keeping a vast number of troops 
on foot in a time of profound peace, merely as a menace to 
one's neighbors, may be left to the powers of the Old World. 

Again, there is the best reason to believe that the very thing 
which most persons regard as a proof of financial weakness is 
really the firmest safeguard of national union and strength. 
Say what we may about the evils of a great National Debt, it is 
still incontestable that such a debt will do more to tighten and 
strengthen the bonds which now hold our Union together than 
all other causes united. Especially is this the case when the 
debt is contracted, as ours in the main has been, in the form 
of great popular loans, every class in society, down even to 
that of the common laborers, being represented among its hold- 
ers. If there had been one hundred thousand holders of na- 
tional stock south of the Potomac and the Ohio, this rebellion 
against the national government would have been impossible. 
With a million, or even half a million, of owners of such stock 
scattered throughout all the States, we should never again hear 
a whisper of disloyalty to the government which punctually 
paid the interest on its bonds. It was the great National Debt 
of England which, in April, 1848, converted every fourth man 
in London into a special constable to fight for the government, 
and made the vast assemblage of the Chartists on Kensington 
Common a ludicrous failure. The heavy debt of Austria, the 
same year, prevented that conglomerate empire from being 
shivered into as many fragments as it counts races and Ian- 



104 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 

guages among its subjects. Our debt has already become a 
great Savings Bank for the people, investments in which have 
been so popular, that, especially during the last eight or nine 
months, investments in Savings Banks, strictly so called, have 
materially diminished. It is no small gain that every journey- 
man mechanic or common laborer, who owns a fifty-dollar sev- 
en-thirty bond — and their number is probably greater than I 
should now venture to estimate — has become deeply interested 
in the safety, the well-being, and the financial honor of the 
government which now punctually pays him one cent a day. 

Moreover, the very circumstance that this immense debt 
was contracted in the brief period of four years, when the 
country was dissevered, and the hearts of the people racked 
with the pains and anxieties of a terrible civil war, affords 
the clearest possible indication of the magnitude and the 
elasticity of the national resources. English writers have 
often boasted, and with good reason, of the enormous wealth 
of their nation, and the confidence that was felt in the sta- 
bility and honor of the government, in that the ministry 
were able, in the very crisis of their great struggle with Na- 
poleon, to raise each year with ease the great loans that 
were necessary to meet the annual expenses of the war. In 
the last and most expensive year of the contest, these loans 
amounted to forty millions sterling, or less than two hundred 
millions of dollars ; and the English historian of the period 
remarks : " Such was the unshaken credit and inexhausti- 
ble capital of Great Britain, that these prodigious loans were 
raised, in this the twenty-first year of the war, at the low rate 
of four and three fifths per cent, of annual interest ; and that 
even on these reduced terms " there was great competition 
among the lenders. But in the last year of the Great Rebel- 
lion, the loans raised by our government, and taken up by the 
people of the loyal States alone, were four times as great, 
amounting to eight hundred millions ; and this, too, though 
the war was fought on our own territory, though one third of 
our States and people were in arms against us, though what 
had been two of our great staples of export, cotton and tobacco, 
were entirely cut off, and our foreign commerce, under the 
operations of a heavy tariff and of piratical cruisers, fitted out 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 105 

and manned in English ports, had lost at least a third of its 
natural dimensions. Great Britain never suffered from the 
tread of an enemy on her own island ground, all fears, even of 
a French invasion, having passed away at least ten years be- 
fore the downfall of Napoleon. 

The fact, indeed, that all our debt was primarily contracted 
to our own people, and is still to a great extent owned within 
the country, is an independent source of gratification and hope 
in the present aspect of the finances. The government has 
never been obliged to contract a foreign loan ; and though, 
during the last year of the war, American stocks found an 
abundant market in Europe, they were sent thither only by in- 
dividuals, and not from necessity, and only because foreigners 
prized them even more highly than our own countrymen. Of 
course, the reason for such higher appreciation is, that loanable 
capital is relatively cheaper on the other side of the Atlantic, 
and must always remain so, so long as the profits on the em- 
ployment of capital are greater at home than abroad. Thus, 
it is an indication, not of the poverty, but of the immense 
natural wealth, of California, that the annual rate of interest 
there is from twelve to eighteen per cent. Such a domestic 
debt as that which we are now laboring under, — and the same 
thing must be said of the national debt of England, — is one 
of a peculiar character. In one sense, the country is not in 
debt at all, but the people, in their collective capacity, are in- 
debted to a portion of their own number, as individuals ; so 
that every creditor of the government is at the same time its 
debtor, and is obliged to pay in part the very interest-money 
which he receives. What is this but a debt of the right hand 
to the left, or paying out of one pocket into another ? 

This fact, as I have said, is a source of gratification and 
hope; but it must not be pressed too far, for it does not 
actually render our financial condition one whit the easier. 
The people of this country, or of any country, form a unit, or 
are united into one body, only in a political sense ; most of our 
rights and obligations are such as adhere to us merely in our 
individual capacities. If deeply in debt, the discomfort of my 
position is not at all alleviated by the fact that my creditor 
happens to be one of my own countrymen. And if a large and 



106 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAK. 

wealthy corporation owe me a considerable sum, I am so much 
the richer, even though I am a stockholder to an insignificant 
amount in the very corporation which is my debtor. Just so, 
it is a burden, and a pretty heavy one, for every individual in 
the community to be bound to pay the government each year 
one twentieth part of his earnings, because the government is 
deeply in debt ; and the burden is not made lighter by reflect- 
ing that nineteen twentieths of the sum thus assessed upon 
him is paid to a fellow-countryman, perhaps a neighbor. 

But the matter may be viewed in another aspect. The 
ability of a portion of our people, during only four years of 
war, to lend to our government 3,000 millions of dollars, the 
whole nation during the same period contributing about 750 
millions more in various forms of national taxation, is but one 
indication among many of what certainly appears, at the first 
sight, to be the most startling phenomenon in the financial 
history of the Great Rebellion. The aggregate sum furnished 
by the people of the loyal States during these four years, in 
the form either of loans or taxes, to provide for the general 
wants of the government and for carrying on the war, was 
3,750 millions of dollars, a sum almost exactly equal to the 
English national debt ; and if we include State and municipal 
taxes, and loans raised exclusively for war purposes^ consider- 
ably exceeding that debt. The marvellous phenomenon in- 
dicated by these statistics is, that this four years period of the 
most awful civil war of which there is any record in history 
has been, in all that regards the financial, commercial, and in- 
dustrial interests of our northern people, a period of wholly 
unexampled prosperity. 

Certainly I have no disposition to palliate the horrors of this 
war ; and I know that the darkest picture which I could draw 
of them would be instinctively approved by the heart of every 
one that hears me. This fearful contest has withdrawn about 
one fifth of the able-bodied population of the North, and nearly 
the whole of that of the South, from the peaceful pursuits of 
industry in order to engage them in the terrible occupation of 
killing each other. It has devastated eight or ten large and 
formerly flourishing States, large portions of them being swept, 
as it were, with the very besom of destruction. It has cost 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 107 

the North alone nearly half a million of lives, many — very 
many — of them being of our best or bravest. The happiest 
portion of those whom we have lost have fallen by the bullet 
or the sword; a much larger number, by some of the numerous 
forms of camp disease ; most of all to be pitied are those who 
have perished of exposure or starvation, while they were 
herded together like cattle in the frightful prison-pens of the 
South. The war has covered the land with mourning, for 
there is hardly a house in which there has not been one dead. 
Far, very far, is it from being any consolation for these losses 
and misfortunes, that you should be told of the large gains of 
commerce and manufactures, of the rich rewards which in- 
dustry has reaped, while this scourge of God has been drawing 
tears from every eye. Rather let this striking contrast remind 
us, that riches are not man's highest good, and that a sudden 
increase of them may appear even as a bitter aggravation and 
mockery of the sorrows which divine justice has brought upon 
us for our sins. 

And yet it is true, that the people of the North, as individ- 
uals, are richer now than they were at the opening of the war. 
Not only has the industry of the country been unimpeded ; it 
has been galvanized into something like feverish activity ; and 
some providential circumstances, like the discovery of our 
enormous supplies of petroleum and its numerous uses, have 
favored its large development. Never were labor and enter- 
prise rewarded with larger gains. While the government was 
sinking deeply and rapidly in debt, the burden of private in- 
debtedness, of pecuniary obligations between man and man, 
was probably never less than at the close of the contest. The 
fluctuations in the value of the currency, injurious in all other 
respects, have had at least this one good result, that they have 
diminished the length of credit given in all bargains of sale, 
and reduced business very nearly to what is called a cash basis. 
Merchants and manufacturers made large gains through the 
great rise in the prices of their commodities on hand at the 
outbreak of hostilities. The immense demands of the govern- 
ment for the supply of the army and the creation of a navy 
have kept our manufactories of wool and iron in full and prof- 
itable employment, and stimulated in a high degree the mar- 



108 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 

ket for our agricultural products. The dividends on bank and 
railroad stocks have been very high throughout the war. The 
great demand for labor has caused wages to rise in proportion 
at least to the increase of profits, and more than enough to 
make up for the depreciation of the currency. It is true, that 
one large class, those living on fixed incomes, have suffered 
severely from the rise of prices caused by the fall in the value 
of money, — a loss, in their case, not made good by any equiva- 
lent increase of income. But this difficulty was bridged over 
at the time by enforced economy on their part, and, as a class, 
these persons are probably now not much poorer than they 
were when the war began. The whole community is certainly 
much wealthier. 

This phenomenon of the rapid increase of private wealth 
amid all the losses, anxieties, and sufferings of a sanguinary 
and protracted war, is one which demands careful analysis and 
study. It is not without example ; perhaps we may say it is 
the ordinary result of a state of war operating upon a highly 
civilized, industrious, and enterprising community, who have 
capital enough to start with, and are so fortunate as to escape 
the evils of direct invasion. English commerce and manu- 
factures were never more prosperous, on the whole, than dur- 
ing the long contest with Napoleon. Even France, where at 
this period industry was not so well organized nor capital so 
abundant, was probably wealthier in 1813 than in 1794 ; and 
her impoverishment afterwards is sufficiently accounted for by 
the double invasion and conquest of her whole territory in the 
last two years of the struggle. 

From this rapid glance at some prominent features of the 
case, it is evident that we in this country have much to learn 
from the financial, as well as the political and military, history 
of the Great Rebellion. It would be strange indeed, if the 
rich experience of the last four years had not thrown new light 
upon some of the great problems, hitherto imperfectly worked 
out, in the sciences of political economy and finance. We 
have been living fast, and studying in a terribly severe school. 
Let us try to bring together and remember some of the les- 
sons that we have learned, with a view, not merely to the 
general increase of knowledge, but to the immediate direction 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 109 

of our future conduct, and to making provision for possible 
future emergencies. The wisdom or folly with which matters 
are conducted at Washington is henceforth to affect us more 
nearly than it did when we had no National Debt that deserved 
the name, no national taxes which were not insignificant by 
the side of our municipal burdens, and nd system of banking 
extending throughout the country, and yet placed entirely 
under the control of Congress and a Secretary of the Treasury 
chosen at hap-hazard. 

In any science, when the phenomena are so complex and in- 
tricate as are those of currency, banking, and finance, a mer© 
record and picture of them, in the order of their occurrence, 
will be of no use, and will even tend to create and perpetuate 
error and mischief. The bare experience of a banker or a 
capitalist in the routine of his business, even when united with 
much sagacity in foreseeing the effects upon the money and 
the stock market of public events* which are passing or near 
at hand, will be profitless for instruction or for any large and 
correct view of the operation of these events, if it be not 
coupled with knowledge of the history and principles of finan- 
cial science, and adroitness in applying these to the analyzed 
results of current phenomena. Mere experience, as Coleridge 
has reminded us, is like a lantern in the stern of a vessel, 
which throws light only upon the waves behind us. Popular 
illusions are rife on the subjects of money and finance, and 
are embodied in the very language in which we speak of the 
ordinary transactions of commerce, just as the phraseology 
in which we still speak of the rising and setting of the sun, 
and other astronomical phenomena, if taken literally, contra- 
dicts the Copernican system, the truth of which we all admit. 
Owing to the constant use of such language, the true theory of 
money, when nakedly stated, seems like a string of paradoxes, 
which are contradicted by the common sense of mankind. 
Yet the truth of this theory is now so clearly established, and 
the course of events in the commercial world, as well as our 
recent experience in war, has so largely illustrated it, that its 
fundamental principles may be regarded as axioms, which no 
one who understands them thinks of contesting. 

It has been our fortune during this four years' war to make 



110 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAE. 

quite as many and as serious blunders in the conduct of the 
finances, as in the management of the armies in the field. It 
would be idle to attempt to hide these errors, or even to palli- 
ate them ; and fortunately it is not necessary to do either. 
The record of these eventful years still contains so much that 
is honorable to the spirit of our people and flattering to their 
pride, that it needs no great exercise of candor on their part 
humbly to confess every fault which they have committed, 
either in civil or military strategy. If we have made mistakes, 
we have known how either to repair them or to triumph in 
spite of them. If we have had feeble and incompetent gen- 
erals, we have been able to get rid of them, and to put men in 
their places whose just fame will not suffer by comparison 
with that of most of the great captains of Europe during the 
last two centuries. If we have expended twice as much 
treasure, and contracted at least thrice as much debt, as was 
necessary, still it is consoling to remember that the whole of 
this vast expenditure has been defrayed by our own industry, 
and that the power and the willingness of the North to con- 
tinue the struggle, if need be, for the attainment of its original 
purpose, were seemingly not one whit less than they were 
when the war first broke out. We have been obliged to im- 
provise both our military leaders and our financial statesmen, 
and the wonder is that we have succeeded so well. 

It is an important maxim, that what is theoretically best as 
a measure of finance is not always politically expedient. The 
problem to be solved by the Secretary of the Treasury and his 
supporters in Congress was not exclusively financial ; they had 
not to ask themselves merely how this fearful and protracted 
civil war could be carried through with the least possible ex- 
penditure of treasure, with the smallest interruption of the 
nation's industry, and with the entailment of as light a burden 
as possible on posterity. If to find an answer to that question 
had been their only duty, we know not that any severity of 
censure of their proceedings would be unfair or misplaced. 
But they had to look farther. They had to consider a divi- 
sion of opinion, a separation of parties, even at the North, and 
to ask themselves whether the whole cause, the cause of Union 
and of the freedom of every human being born on American 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAK. Ill 

ground, might not be imperilled by the institution at once of 
those vigorous measures of finance which the magnitude of the 
occasion so loudly demanded. As politicans, and especially as 
party politicians, it is now easy to perceive that they overes- 
timated this danger, and that they did not do justice to the 
ardor and unanimity of the whole people in their attachment 
to the Union, and in their resolution to do and endure all 
rather than submit to its dismemberment. But standing 
where they did, and with the training which they had recently 
had in party conflicts, we cannot blame them for keeping this 
peril in view, though we can now see plainly that they were 
timid politicians and incompetent financiers. 

This political faint-hearteclness is all that can be alleged to 
palliate — we do not say to excuse — the first great blunder 
in the financial management of the war. Congress, which 
assembled in extra session in the summer of 1861, a few 
months after the outbreak of the rebellion, failed to take any 
adequate measures to support by taxation the national credit, 
though it was now apparent to all that immediately, and for a 
long time to come, this credit was to be strained to the utmost. 
The wants of the Treasury were immense, and were pressing 
at the very moment. An army of half a million men was 
rapidly assembling, and all its wants were to be provided for ; 
a navy was not merely to be fitted out, but to be created ; all 
the munitions for war on the largest scale were to be furnished. 
The spirit of the nation was high ; in the whole history of the 
world, excepting perhaps the first outbreak of the great French 
Revolution, no parallel can be found to the wave of enthusiasm 
which overspread the North after the attack on Fort Sumter, 
and which has been aptly called " the awakening of a great 
people." This enthusiasm was shared as fully by the rich as 
by the poor, as was manifested by the munificence of private 
gifts in aid of enrolling and caring for the soldiers. Heavy 
taxes imposed at once would have been received with acclama- 
tion, and paid with alacrity, for the country was rich as well 
as willing. The action of Congress alone in all financial meas- 
ures, though not in military affairs, was feeble and inefficient ; 
and great blame must also be laid on the Treasury department, 
for it does not appear that vigorous action was even counselled 



112 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAE. 

by its head, since nearly all that he did recommend, we be- 
lieve, was actually enacted into law. Except some insignifi- 
cant modifications of the tariff, a direct tax of $20,000,000, 
imposed on the States, and an income tax of only three per 
cent., both to be assessed and paid only after the lapse of a 
year, were the only measures adopted to raise money except 
by loans. 

Prospective taxes ! Taxes to be levied a year ahead, and 
then but to an insignificant amount, as the only means of sup- 
porting an army of half a million, when the enemy were al- 
ready thundering at the gates of the Capitol, and when it was 
feared that neither Washington nor Baltimore could be de- 
fended against them ! Why, after the first battle of Bull Run, 
which took place before the passage of this tax bill, it ap- 
peared doubtful to many persons whether, a year hence, there 
would be any United States in which these imposts could be 
collected. Capitalists do not relish such postponed and con- 
tingent security for their money. Congress seemed aware of 
this fact, and was thereby induced, in the bill for borrowing 
money, to commit its second great financial blunder, by insti- 
tuting a system of short loans, which, by maturing before 
there was any reasonable prospect that the war would be over, 
only enhanced the much greater difficulties of the Treasury at 
a later period. 

The effect on the credit of the government of this feeble 
action of Congress was immediately apparent. The loan of 
two hundred millions was negotiated only with great difficulty 
at over seven per cent., though the five per cent, bonds of the 
single State of Massachusetts were even then above par, and 
though the national government had borrowed money recently 
with ease at six per cent. In fact, this loan could not have 
been negotiated at all, if it had not been for the patriotism 
of the State banks, which reflected and carried out the en- 
thusiasm of the people. One effect of the subsequent depres- 
sion of the public mind caused by this low state of national 
credit, and enhanced by the unaccountable sloth and inac- 
tivity of McClellan at the head of his noble army, even after 
the insults received at Ball's Bluff and by the blockade of 
the Potomac, was the aggravation of commercial difficulties, 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 113 

which compelled the banks to suspend specie payments late in 
December, 1861. Congress accepted this act as a national 
necessity, and by a law passed the next February, authorized 
the Treasury also to stop payment in coin, and to issue one 
hundred and fifty millions of dollars in paper currency. 

Here, we are compelled to differ in opinion from those who 
censure this law both as a blunder and a crime, and attribute 
to it all our subsequent financial difficulties. We maintain 
that, under the circumstances, it was unavoidable ; and if 
proper measures had been afterwards adopted, especially if the 
due limit had been observed in the issue of government notes 
to take the place of the specie which had disappeared from 
circulation, there would have been no further shock to public 
credit, no injurious depreciation of the currency, no breach of 
faith, and that the act would even have tended to increase the 
national strength. The suspension, if wisely managed, might 
have continued as long as that of the Bank of England at the 
close of the last century, which lasted over twenty years, and 
during the first seven or eight of those years did not cause the 
currency to depreciate more than six or seven per cent. Cer- 
tainly the immediate effect of the act of February 25, 1862, 
was to release about two hundred and fifty millions in specie 
from its employment as money, for which purpose it had be- 
come useless, to convert it into a commodity exchangeable for 
goods from abroad, and to give the government the benefit of 
a free loan, without interest, of this large sum, by merely issu- 
ing its own notes in place of the coin so withdrawn. These 
notes, if not issued in excess, would not have depreciated ex- 
cept to a trifling extent of four or five per cent., or not enough 
to cause any perceptible loss or embarrassment in trade ; 
actually they did not so depreciate for about ^nq months, as 
gold did not rise to as high a premium as five per cent, till the 
next June, though the banks had suspended in December. 
Still further, the State banks, by originating the suspension 
two months before Congress followed their example, had for- 
feited every shadow of a claim to be permitted still to use 
their own notes as currency ; they had thereby converted their 
circulation into true " bills of credit," or paper money, which 
the Constitution expressly prohibits any " State " or State in- 



114 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAK. 

stitution from emitting ; while this express prohibition, through 
what the lawyers call a negative pregnant, impliedly authorizes 
Congress to emit such money, even if it does not expressly 
authorize it to do so by granting to this body a power to 
" regulate the value " of money. It would have been strictly 
just, therefore, as it surely was highly expedient, to put a 
prohibitory tax upon the circulation of the suspended State 
banks, thereby driving it out of use altogether, and so creat- 
ing another vacuum in the currency, to the extent of at least 
a hundred and fifty millions, which Congress might fill by an 
additional issue to that amount of national paper currency not 
liable to depreciation. The whole profit derivable from the 
issue of currency belongs of right to the people in their collec- 
tive capacity ; and in the great struggle for national existence 
which was then pending, it was strictly equitable for the 
nation to exercise this right, so far as it could do so without 
injuring the rights of individuals by compelling them to use 
paper money which would depreciate or oscillate in value. 
Nothing can be more certain than that, by driving coin and 
bank-notes out of circulation, Congress might have gained for 
the country, in its sore need, the free use of at least four hun- 
dred millions of dollars, for an indefinite period, without inter- 
est, without injury to the national credit, and without discount- 
ing the resources of the future. 

But what did Congress and the Treasury actually do ? In 
the first place, they let alone the dishonored State bank circu- 
lation, making no attempt to displace it, or even to force it 
(except some time afterwards, and to a very moderate extent) 
to contribute to the nation's necessities. Secondly, in defiance 
of one of the plainest principles of financial science, — a truth 
verified a hundred times by experience, and recognized by 
every banker, political economist, or statesman who has writ- 
ten or thought upon the subject for at least a century, — they 
proceeded to issue their own currency in lavish excess^ in seem- 
ing ignorance of the fact that it would depreciate, or of the 
lamentable consequences that would follow such depreciation. 
They seem to have reasoned by induction, thus : We have 
issued two hundred and fifty millions of this money, and no 
harm has ensued ; therefore we can safely continue the issue 
to the extent of a thousand millions. 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAE. 115 

N^ttioi, ovSe laacriv Scrip TrXiov rj/xLcrv 7ravros. 

For a clear and forcible statement of the truth which they 
ignorantly or wilfully disregarded, we will not quote any of 
the acknowledged lights of modern financial science, from 
Adam Smith down to Ricardo and J. S. Mill, though they all 
agree upon the point, merely because we have an American 
authority at hand which answers the purpose better. Nearly 
eighty-five years ago, John Adams, looking at the sad results 
of the old Continental currency, which were soon to produce a 
dangerous rebellion even here in Massachusetts, wrote thus to 
the Count de Vergennes : — 

"The amount of ordinary commerce, external and internal, of a 
society, may be computed at a fixed sum. A certain sum of money is 
necessary to circulate among the society in order to carry on their 
business. This precise sum is discoverable by calculation and reduci- 
ble to certainty. You may emit paper or any other currency for this 
purpose until you reach this rule, and it will not depreciate. After 
you exceed this rule, it will depreciate ; and no power or act of legis- 
lation hitherto invented can prevent it. In the case of paper, if you 
go on emitting forever, the whole mass will be worth no more than 
that was which was emitted within the rule." — J. Adams's Works, 
Vol. VII. p. 195. 

The precise deficit in this fixed sum caused by driving the 
specie out of circulation was perfectly well known not to ex- 
ceed, at the utmost, two hundred and fifty millions of dollars. 
Yet the Treasury, acting under the discretionary powers which 
it had received from Congress, issued between March, 1862, 
and September 30, 1864, the enormous sum, in round num- 
bers, of seven hundred and thirty-two millions of legal tender 
paper currency. This sum consisted (round numbers again) 
of four hundred and thirty-three millions of "greenbacks " or 
government currency proper, two hundred and twenty-nine 
millions of legal-tender Treasury notes on interest, twenty-five 
millions of fractional currency, and forty-five millions of na- 
tional bank circulation. Of course, depreciation followed ; 
and it is curious to observe how precisely the ratio of this 
depreciation conformed to the law as stated by Mr. Adams. 
The specie displaced was to the whole sum of paper issued, as 
we have seen, very nearly as one to three ; and the price of a 



116 THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 

gold dollar, in July and August, 1864, rose to $2.80 in paper. 
The currency was put forth at intervals, and in successively 
increasing amounts, during two years and a half ; and the 
price of gold taken at different times daring this period in- 
dicated very accurately how much of this currency had then 
come into use. Thus the premium on gold, which had been 
trifling up to June, 1862, rose from twenty to thirty per cent, 
before the next October. From this time forward it fluctuated 
greatly, but with a general progress upward, till it reached 80 
in May, 1864 ; and then, large amounts being issued suddenly 
to provide the immense supplies needed for the great campaign 
about to open, it mounted swiftly and with wild oscillations to 
185 in July and August. In other words, in those months, 
12.85 in paper were needed to buy either one dollar in gold or 
any commodities which that single gold dollar could purchase. 

Of course, this voluntary depreciation of the currency was 
a breach of public faith, and an avowal both of private and 
public bankruptcy. The act which sanctioned it authorized 
every debtor in the community, and the government, which 
was the greatest debtor of all, to diminish every obligation to 
pay money as much as the depreciation of the currency had in- 
creased during the interval between giving that obligation and 
its coming to maturity. Any person who, in return for goods 
purchased, gave a note at six months from February, 1864, for 
one thousand dollars, each dollar being then worth sixty-three 
cents in coin, would pay it the next August with one thousand 
dollars worth only thirty-nine cents each ; that is, for six hun- 
dred and thirty dollars received, he repaid only three hundred 
and ninety dollars, or less than sixty-two per cent. But cred- 
itors are not always the losers ; as the depreciation of the cur- 
rency, when excessive, is subject to violent and sudden oscilla- 
tions, it may happen that one who has contracted a debt when 
dollars are worth only forty cents each, is obliged to pay it 
when they have risen in value to sixty cents. In such case, all 
trade, beyond immediate cash transactions or mere barter, be- 
comes a lottery, commerce is crippled and demoralized, and all 
faith in contracts is shaken. 

But the government is far the greatest loser in the affair ; 
and rightfully so, for it has not only broken its own faith, but 



THE FINANCIAL CONDUCT OF THE WAR. 117 

obliged other people to break theirs. To adopt Talleyrand's 
witty remark, which compresses into a nutshell the wisdom 
that is of this world, the act of the Treasury which produced 
this depreciation was worse than a crime ; it was a blunder. 
As its necessities were great, and its breach of faith had been 
flagrant, it had voluntarily ruined its own credit, and could 
expect to be able to borrow only by offering the most usurious 
rates of interest. Accordingly, in the very acts which au- 
thorized the excessive issues of currency, Congress was obliged 
to stipulate that the interest — and by necessary implication 
the principal also — should be paid in coin. Accordingly, dur- 
ing the last twelve months, the depreciation being on an 
average two for one, the government has been borrowing 
enormous sums on the hard terms of covenanting to return 
two dollars for every one received, and of paying meanwhile 
ten or twelve per cent, interest. Of course, the public debt has 
accumulated during this period with frightful rapidity. To 
offer a still greater inducement for capitalists to take up the 
loans, it is further covenanted that the national stocks shall 
forever be free from either municipal, State, or national taxa- 
tion ; thus adding at least two per cent, to the already excessive 
rate of interest, and making a serious inroad upon the future 
capacities of the country to sustain the annual charge of the 
debt and reimburse the principal. 



THE UTILITY AND THE LIMITATIONS OF THE 
SCIENCE OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 

EROM THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER FOR MARCH, 1838. 

" The ' Treatise on the Law of War and Peace,' the ' Spirit 
of Laws,' the 4 Essay on Human Understanding,' and the ' In- 
quiry into the Causes of the Wealth of Nations,' are the works 
which have most directly influenced the general opinions of 
Europe during the two last centuries." Of the four works 
thus distinguished by so competent a judge as Sir James Mack- 
intosh, the last is the most practical, and has most directly 
affected the course of legislation and the policy of governments 
in civilized Europe. We do not deny that similar changes 
and improvements would have been effected if Adam Smith 
had never lived. His work was the production of the age, 
and not of the individual, in the same way that the revival of 
letters, not the mere ingenuity of a German mechanic, caused 
the invention of the art of printing. The increased extent 
and importance of commercial enterprises in the eighteenth 
century, and the manner in which the attention of rulers at 
the same period was turned from disputes with each other, and 
devoted to nursing the prosperity of the communities over 
which they presided, created a demand for the discovery of 
true principles in Economical science. Vague suspicions were 
excited, that all was not right, — that there was some mistake 
in the well-meant efforts of government ; loose notions of more 
correct theories were floating about, which Adam Smith em- 
bodied and published in a systematic form, at a period so near 
the time when they were promulgated by others, as to give 
some cause, though an inadequate one, to dispute the priority 
of his discovery. That the minds of men were prepared for 
such a change of opinions, was shown by the eagerness and 



THE SCIENCE OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 119 

favor with which the publication was received. No work has 
been more successful in gaining the immediate approbation of 
all persons whom private interests did not induce to maintain 
an opposite theory. 

Still, the science founded on this remarkable treatise has 
exerted only partial influence on the policy of states, and prac- 
tical statesmen, as they are styled, have impugned its leading 
principles with an earnestness and apparent sincerity for which 
we can hardly account. Whence comes this difference of 
opinions ? Why have legislators yielded a theoretical assent 
to doctrines which, in many instances, they have refused to 
reduce to practice ? The frequent opposition between a specu- 
lative and a practical judgment will hardly explain the prob- 
lem ; for those cannot be termed theoretical truths, which are 
immediately concerned with the daily pursuits, and affect the 
most familiar interests of mankind. They do not belong to 
the class of doctrines which are usually contested between theo- 
rists and practical men. Founded on inductive reasoning from 
the most obvious facts, and confirmed by remarkable success 
in the experiments that have been tried, they are supported 
by a large number of persons most familiar with the routine 
of business and the minute details of legislation. Most of the 
important laws affecting the commercial and manufacturing 
interests of Great Britain, enacted during the past thirty years, 
have been founded on the principles of this science, and sup- 
ported in Parliament on this ground. Mr. Huskisson's regu- 
lations of the silk trade, the recent improvement of the poor 
laws, the change effected in the charter of the East India Com- 
pany, are notorious proofs of this assertion. Yet we meet with 
men grown gray in politics and legislation, who emphatically 
term the science of Political Economy a humbug, and its par- 
tisans a set of visionary schemers and theorists. The reputa- 
tion of these men for talent and sincerity is too high and too 
well attested to admit of their being assailed in either respect. 
To say that they are committed to an opposite policy is to 
doubt their honesty ; and to affirm that their private interests 
effectually blind them to the perception of truth, is to question 
their superiority of intellect. We do neither. Therefore the 
prejudice which they have conceived appears unaccountable 
at first sight. 



120 THE UTILITY AND THE LIMITATIONS OF 

We believe that both the doctrinaires of Political Economy 
and their opponents are in the wrong ; the former in reducing 
their principles to practice with too little regard to attendant 
and qualifying circumstances, the latter in questioning the 
truth of the principles themselves. The nature and objects of 
the science are not fully understood. The principles which it 
embraces are very general in relation to the objects to which 
they apply ; but this generality is obtained by the abstraction 
of those minute points of difference which, in the application of 
the truths, must again be taken into view. The propositions 
are founded on facts only less numerous than the various hab- 
its, dispositions, and circumstances of men. The ease with 
which common people reason correctly upon these facts does 
not prove that an extended and minute observation of them is 
unnecessary. It only shows their obviousness, — that we ob- 
serve them unconsciously, and whether we will or no. We 
admit the Economist's premises, then, and assent to the cor- 
rectness of his argument, but doubt the conclusion, because it 
seems impracticable as a rule. Make the proper allowances 
for the former omissions, qualify the application of the general 
result, and the apparent impracticability disappears. The case 
is similar with the theory of mechanics. The mathematician 
considers levers as straight lines without breadth or thickness, 
ropes as perfectly flexible, and disregards friction altogether ; 
thus he arrives at the most comprehensive and demonstrable 
conclusions. It would be very absurd in him to insist on the 
unqualified correctness of these results, and no less absurd in 
the practical mechanic to neglect entirely these general truths, 
and go blindly onward, feeling his way by practice and experi- 
ment. Yet the Political Economist who harshly insists on the 
immediate adoption of his principles, and the practical legisla- 
tor who ridicules the whole science, commit an equal mistake. 
In argument, indeed, both may admit that the truth of the 
matter is as we have stated. Practically they both deny it. 
General maxims, it is true, must be applied with a cautious 
regard to the circumstances of each case ; but this admission 
does not affect the universal truth and practical importance 
of the maxims themselves. The truths are as comprehensive 
and unqualified as they appear to be in the statement. The 



THE SCIENCE OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 121 

exceptions are so few in number that they admit of being 
enumerated and denned with the utmost precision. But the 
difficulty consists in ascertaining the proper scope of the prin- 
ciple, and the real character of the case which is proposed 
to be governed by it. Different sets of problems require dif- 
ferent methods of solution ; the incorrectness of the result is 
often attributable to an improper classification of the question, 
by which we have been led to use a rule that was wholly in- 
applicable. 

Writers on Political Economy are unconsciously influenced 
by a regard to the situation of their own country, the circum- 
stances of its inhabitants, and the particular policy of its rulers. 
Their labors are, on this account, more useful to their own 
countrymen than they would have been if the generalization 
had been more extensive. But they deceive themselves when 
they insist on the universal application of the maxims. Thus, 
the opinions of British writers on the corn trade are biassed by 
the insular position of England, and its limited extent of ter- 
ritory. The power of supplying themselves at will with grain 
from the Continent depends on their political relations with 
the other governments of Europe. The caution which they 
evince in advocating restrictions upon importation, and encour- 
aging to the utmost the cultivation of corn within the king- 
dom, is the well-grounded result of close attention to their 
peculiar position as a people. They deceive themselves, and 
others are deceived by them, who would make this caution 
universal, and place any other duties on foreign grain than 
those required to aid the national revenue. Again, the opin- 
ions of Mr. Malthus on population lead to certain conclusions 
respecting the policy of the poor laws in England. But these 
conclusions are not the less derived, in part, from a regard to 
the crowded population of the British empire, the immense 
number of those who seek charitable relief, and the entire 
absence among them of those feelings of pride and delicacy 
which compel the poor of many countries to endure the utmost 
suffering before they consent to throw themselves on the pub- 
lic. Obtaining /aid from the parish is too common an occur- 
rence among English laborers to admit the feeling of shame in 
such a case to control their actions. In this country, we are 



122 THE UTILITY AND THE LIMITATIONS OF 

not obliged to render life in an almshouse more irksome and 
uncomfortable than it need be, through fear that it may be- 
come a favorite place of abode for the suffering poor. Unless 
we see fit to do so on other grounds, we may refuse to alter our 
poor laws, without rejecting the theory on which Mai thus rests 
his proposed amendments. We may admit the principle, but 
in our own case deny the application. 

These remarks may throw some light on a question which 
appears to be of no small importance, — the propriety of com- 
bining an accurate and extended knowledge of statistics with 
the study of Political Economy. Writers on the science have 
objected to the practice of founding conclusions on facts alone, 
on the ground that our acquaintance with facts must necessa- 
rily be partial and imperfect. At the utmost, statistical ac- 
counts are true only for the time being, and principles deduced 
from them are falsified by every subsequent change. Again, a 
knowledge of all the facts in each case might lead us to adopt 
a policy the very opposite from that which would appear to 
be recommended by a partial consideration of circumstances. 
The prosperity of a country may be brought to prove the cor- 
rectness of its system of legislation, when this very prosperity 
may exist in spite of the political measures, rather than in con- 
sequence of them. The excess of imports over exports is ad- 
duced by one set of reasoners to demonstrate that the country 
is running in debt ; while others hold that the foreign com- 
merce has been remarkably successful, — the returns so far 
exceeding the outfits. A general enhancement of prices may 
seem to evince the national welfare ; but if it arises from the 
depreciation of the currency, it rather betokens national decay. 
These examples show the facility with which any principle 
may be made out by means of what Adam Smith has styled 
political arithmetic, and they justify the cautiousness of this 
writer against such a suspicious medium of proof. 

But do we infer that facts are useless in Political Economy ? 
By no means. The office of the Economist is to interpret 
facts, — not to prophecy what must be, but to explain what is. 
Statistical returns are thus the object of the science, though it 
is unsafe to consider them as the data, from which the original 
principles are derived. Instead of creating the rule, they gov- 



THE SCIENCE OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 123 

ern its application. For instance, the peculiar situation of our 
own land is sufficient to qualify materially the force of the 
general maxims established by European writers. The mere 
fact that the ocean rolls between us and Europe, and the con- 
sequent delays and expenses of transportation, must influence 
our theories of foreign commerce, and restrict the reasoning 
heretofore applied to a system of import duties. We want an 
American treatise of Political Economy, one that shall con- 
tain not merely the higher truths that are strictly universal, 
and which no circumstances can limit or disprove, but the less 
general maxims founded on those of the first class, and on a 
careful observation of facts, that may form a text-book for leg- 
islators and statesmen. We want a work which shall bear 
the same relation to American institutions that the writings of 
Malthus and Ricardo do to those of England. We are yet a 
new people, anH, during the past fifty years, the vacillating 
legislation of the country on the subjects of foreign commerce, 
domestic manufactures, and the currency, betrays an ignorance 
of our own vital interests, which shames alike the rulers and 
the governed. It is time to secure that advantage, at least, 
which may be gained by undeviating adherence to one general 
policy, though the system selected be neither the wisest in the 
abstract, nor the best adapted to our peculiar condition. Un- 
fortunately, the conflict of interests between the States pro- 
duces a heated discussion of questions relating to commercial 
and manufacturing policy, and the issue is too often decided 
at length on party grounds. This evil is irremediable in part ; 
but the habit of general reasoning must tend to soften the 
acerbity of debate, and repress the more absurd declarations of 
extravagant theories, to which men are driven in the warmth 
of contest. It is full time that the higher subjects of legisla- 
tion should be handled not merely by politicians, but by spec+ 
ulative men — we are not afraid of the epithet — who, sepa- 
rated from the din of parties, may propose and advocate meas- 
ures on more substantial grounds than those of compromise 
and temporary expediency. It is possible, at least, for one to 
argue upon such themes, who has no views of political advance^ 
ment, and no wish to decry the Bank or defame President Van 
Bur en. 



124 THE UTILITY AND THE LIMITATIONS OF 

But if this end is ever to be attained, if Economical ques- 
tions are ever to be viewed in any other light than in their re- 
lation to the schemes of party, greater attention must be paid 
to the collection and publication of facts. The science of sta- 
tistics has hardly an existence in this country. The returns 
that are made by the Treasury department of the national 
government are meagre beyond description, and are published 
in the most ill-digested state. Immense labor must be ex- 
pended to work them up into such a form that they may elu- 
cidate the condition of the country and the policy of its laws. 
Mistaken reasoning upon facts proceeds from imperfect percep- 
tion of their mutual bearing, and from partial views. These 
evils can be remedied only by completeness in the returns, and 
by such scientific arrangements as may develop at once the 
real nature of the circumstances. A mere account of the vari- 
ation of prices in the different markets of our extensive terri- 
tory, and at different periods of time, must throw great light 
on the circumstances that affect production, and on the proper 
modes of regulating commerce. 

Great caution would still be necessary in digesting theories 
and forming plans with exclusive regard to such statistical col- 
lections. The higher principles of Political Economy, from 
their obviousness and universality of operation, are in truth 
general facts, and reasoning founded upon them is eminently 
practical. They are deduced from common observation, and 
lie so closely within the sphere of experience as to appear trite 
in the enunciation. That competition will ordinarily produce 
equality of profits in the several employments of industry and 
capital, that a private person can manage his own business 
better than government can manage it for him, that on the 
welfare of individuals depends the welfare of the state, — these 
are not principles arbitrarily assumed in defence of theoretical 
legislation. Whatever conclusions are immediately inferred 
from them must be true ; and it is only when the chain of rea- 
soning is extended, and the consequences are remote, that sta- 
tistics are of use to check the induction, and qualify or refute 
the ultimate rule. The class of legislators who reject the 
Economist's arguments as too abstract, and his projects as 
impracticable, and profess themselves to be governed only by 



THE SCIENCE OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 125 

common sense and daily experience, are refuted by their own 
frequent changes of opinion and fluctuating measures. Cir- 
cumstances bring them round to the very positions they for- 
merly assailed, and they find themselves alternately fighting 
in opposite camps, without the consciousness of desertion or 
removal. Consistency is the fruit of those modes of thought 
which they formally condemn. So true is it that a short-sighted 
policy is ever a temporary one. 

In this country we are all legislators. The humblest indi- 
vidual who puts in a vote at town-meeting, exerts an influence 
on the laws, and does his part in determining vexed political 
questions. In recommending the study of Political Economy, 
then, we merely advise that such knowledge may be obtained 
as may fit a citizen for the proper exercise of his functions. 
The practice, if not the theory, of our government is to elect 
persons to office who shall represent the opinions of the elect- 
ors, and not to delegate to the elected the power of thinking 
and judging for the community. The represented are not 
humble enough to suppose that their representative has better 
means, or a better capacity, to judge of the state of the country 
than themselves ; but they insist on making the correctness of 
his opinions, as it appears to them, to be the principal test of 
his qualifications for office. Now, it is obvious that the. bulk 
of the voters will look mainly to the candidate's opinions on 
those questions which must directly affect their own pecuniary 
interests. No government on earth, in proportion to the extent 
of country, is conducted at so little expense as our own ; yet a 
candidate has no more certain mode of recommending himself 
to the affections of the people than by proposing schemes of 
retrenchment. We have heard of an old representative to the 
General Court from one of our country towns, who made it 
his boast that he had never voted for any proposition to spend 
the people's money ; in other words, he had opposed every 
bill, whether judicious or not in other respects, which led to 
the expenditure of a single dollar. The consequence was, that 
he was elected every time he chose to be considered as a can- 
didate. The common prejudice against direct taxation proves, 
that in a popular government the community must be cheated 
into those expenditures which are essential to the welfare of 



126 THE UTILITY AND THE LIMITATIONS OF 

the state. Nothing is more certain than that indirect taxation 
really imposes the heaviest burden, for the costs of collection 
are greater. But the tax is concealed, the enhancement of 
cost, which it occasions, being blended with the ordinary fluc- 
tuations of price. Universally, where the pecuniary bearings 
of a measure are indirect, the decision on its propriety is had 
on false or insufficient grounds, and the consequent mistakes of 
policy are frequent and serious. We are not Quixotic enough 
to suppose that the dissemination of scientific principles is pos- 
sible to an extent that would entirely remedy this evil. But 
it is not unreasonable to believe, that, were the study of Eco- 
nomical science made more general than it is at present, the 
grosser errors might be avoided, and the character of our com- 
mercial legislation, which is now so uncertain and changeable, 
might be materially improved. 

It is mournful to reflect, that, in a country where so much 
depends on the correctness of the opinions held by the people 
at large, hardly any progress has been made in defining and 
limiting the maxims of Political Economy for our own use, or 
in diffusing that degree of elementary knowledge which is 
requisite for the security and well-being of the state. The ab- 
surd prejudice against wholesale dealers in grain, which once 
caused an alarming riot in New York, cannot exist in a mind 
imbued with the simplest and most evident maxims of the 
science. Unless this degree of knowledge becomes universal, 
we may naturally expect, in a season of scarcity, the most fran- 
tic actions on the part of the populace. The experience of the 
last year has proved that, even in our extensive and fertile 
territory, a deficiency of breadstuff's is a possible occurrence. 
The recurrence of such a scarcity among a people who have 
no means of forming a correct judgment of its nature, causes, 
and remedies, and in whom the physical as well as moral power 
of the state resides, would be fraught with the most direct and 
mischievous consequence. In view of these and other possible 
occurrences, we think the propriety of paying greater attention 
to the progress and dissemination of knowledge on Economical 
subjects to be sufficiently evident. 

But before this study could be introduced into our common 
schools, and cultivated to a greater extent in our colleges and 



THE SCIENCE OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 127 

higher seminaries of learning, some improvements must be made 
in the theory of the science, and in adapting it to our peculiar 
wants and situation. We have already alluded to the two 
principal obstacles to the progress of the science on this side of 
the Atlantic, — the want of copious statistical returns, and the 
danger of confounding Economical discussions with party de- 
bates. The first of these difficulties cannot much longer exist. 
Industry may effect much by a proper use of existing means 
of information, and we trust the attention of Congress has not 
been called in vain to the urgent necessity of enlarging these 
sources of knowledge. The prejudices of statesmen may be 
done away by demonstrating the applicability and usefulness 
of the doctrines, or they may be driven to a more liberal mode 
of considering the subject by finding the people already in 
advance of themselves. The remedy of the other evil which 
we have mentioned is far more difficult. So strong is the in- 
fluence of universal example, that we can hardly admit it to be 
possible for one to advocate or impugn the policy of a tariff on 
any other than party grounds, and with the wages and motives 
of a political aspirant. Till a more liberal sentiment prevails, 
we may well despair of hearing the subject discussed by men 
who can have no personal interest in the result, and who are 
well fitted by their previous studies and pursuits to agitate an 
abstruse and difficult question. 

The forbidding appearance of the subject, as it is displayed 
in most of the formal treatises, the obscurity of the doctrines, 
and the abstract and repulsive nature of the reasoning em- 
ployed, have appeared to some an insurmountable obstacle to 
the diffusion and popularity of the science. There are some 
grounds for this apprehension. Writers have exhibited the 
theme in its least inviting aspect, and have prided themselves 
on the severe and rugged appearance of their discussions, as if 
attractiveness of style and all embellishment and illustration 
were foreign to the occasion. But the " Wealth of Nations " 
proves that such a course is unnecessary ; for the graceful dif- 
fuseness of the author's manner, and the abundance of exam- 
ples, veil the abstract nature of the inquiry, and invest its 
harshest features with a secret charm. For this reason, if a 
foreign work must be adopted as a text-book in our colleges, 



128 THE UTILITY AND THE LIMITATIONS OF 

the writings of Adam Smith should be preferred. The want 
of method and the digressive character of the book are slight 
objections to its use, when the only object is to create an inter- 
est in the study, to furnish unexceptionable examples of the 
proper kind of reasoning, and to induce the pupil to think and 
judge for himself. We have great doubts whether the first 
principles of Political Economy have ever been set forth in a 
more satisfactory manner than by the founder of the science. 
A competent instructor might be trusted to suggest such cir- 
cumstances as qualify the application of the doctrines in this 
country. 

We are bound to declare that the preceding remarks have 
been suggested by the defects of Dr. Wayland's book, consid- 
ered as a manual of instruction. In other respects, it presents 
many of those features which gained for the author's work on 
Ethics a well-merited popularity. The great fault of the work 
is its want of American character, — of adaptation to our pe- 
culiar circumstances and institutions. Practically considered, 
few principles of the science, as they appear in most treatises, 
are universally true. We have shown that they must be cau- 
tiously reduced to practice, when the attendant circumstances 
are different from those which the author or discoverer had in 
view. Dr. Wayland has hardly attempted to state the excep- 
tions to the rules, or to limit the enunciation ; and the useful- 
ness of his book in this country is proportionably diminished. 
Thus, the argument respecting a legal provision for the poor 
sets forth a sound doctrine for English statesmen, proposing 
the only certain remedy for the greatest evil which their coun- 
try suffers. In the United States, the evil does not exist. 
Properly speaking, no public relief is granted to the simply 
indigent, the few cases in which a home is afforded to the able- 
bodied poor being rightly considered as instances, not of char- 
ity, but of punishment. But the argument on this head is 
worse than useless, for it proves too much. Those who are 
able to work, says Dr. Wayland, should not be maintained at 
the public cost, because inviolability of property is essential to 
the social welfare. But the right of property is equally in- 
vaded when one receives without labor what is taken from 
another without an equivalent, whether the necessities of the 



THE SCIENCE OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 129 

former are real or factitious, — whether his distress arises from 
his own fault or from circumstances without his control. Per- 
sons incapacitated by natural causes, the blind, the aged, the 
sick, have by this argument no better claim on the community 
than the indolent and the vicious. But we deny that the 
enactment of poor laws amounts in any case to the violation 
of a right. Property is a social institution, the creature of 
law, and is of course subservient to all the purposes for which 
society was created. It was instituted to promote the general 
welfare, and must therefore be subject to those limitations and 
restrictions which increase its tendency to this end. It can- 
not be for the general good that one man should perish from 
want, while another is rolling in wealth. The law takes from 
the latter what is barely sufficient to preserve the former from 
starvation. To take more would be to encourage idleness, and 
in this way to diminish the general stock of happiness. To 
take nothing would be to cause an amount of individual suf- 
fering that would equally lessen the sum of welfare in the 
community. The poor man has the same right to the portion 
assigned to him which the original possessor of the property 
has to the remainder ; for both are indebted to the laws for 
what they enjoy, and in the judgment of the legislature, whose 
authority on this subject is supreme, both enactments are 
equally expedient. Put the question on the ground of expe- 
diency, not of right, and Dr. Wayland's conclusion is correct. 

One great problem, the most difficult, perhaps, in the whole 
science, yet the most important, if we consider its bearing on 
the determination of many other questions, is passed over in 
this work before us with too little notice. We refer to the 
effects of great accumulation of capital, of vast improvements 
in labor-saving machinery, — to the possibility of the product- 
ive power in a community outrunning its ability and desire to 
consume. May not capital be accumulated to a point, beyond 
which there would be no possibility of employing it ? May 
not habits of frugality become common to an extent that would 
check, rather than favor, the increase of wealth ? If the wants 
of a community were confined to mere bread and water, indus- 
try would be required for no other purpose than for the raising 
of grain ; and as the labor of one would in this way provide for 



130 THE UTILITY AND THE LIMITATIONS OF 

the subsistence of a hundred, ninety-nine would be thrown out 
of employment. What could one in this class offer in exchange 
for the hundredth portion of the other's produce ? The luxu- 
rious habits of the rich are necessary to balance the effects of 
forced economy among the poor. If the higher classes sub- 
mit from choice to those privations which less fortunate persons 
undergo from necessity, the demand for industry and capital 
would be too far restricted to admit of the universal employ- 
ment of the one, or the general and rapid accumulation of the 
other. We cannot,' therefore, agree with some Economists, 
that luxury is always an evil, for it tends to the equalization 
of wealth. 

Before the principles of Economical science were much dis- 
cussed, the increase of the population was the sole end which 
philanthropy had in view. In a given district, the quantum 
of happiness was held to be in direct ratio to the number of in- 
habitants. But the sturdiest opponent of Malthus must admit 
that an increase of the laboring population of England and 
Ireland, that miserable and degraded class, is hardly to be de- 
sired. A ruinous competition for employment, the reduction 
of wages to the lowest point that will suffice to keep life flick- 
ering in its socket, is the inevitable consequence of an enlarge- 
ment of numbers. To increase the comforts of the multitudes 
who exist, rather than to call other multitudes into being, who 
must claim a share of the slender stock of enjoyments, is the 
dictate of cautious and reflecting philanthropy. " Before pop- 
ulation can advance, there must be something on which it can 
subsist ; before capital can increase, there must be something 
in which it may be embodied." The same doubts respecting 
the desirableness, even the possibility, of indefinite increase in 
the case of population, have now come to be entertained by 
respectable writers in regard to capital. We do not partici- 
pate in these alarms. The evils that are feared seem to result 
more from defective political organization, than from the nat- 
ural course of things as established by a beneficent Creator. 
An exposition of this remark may evince in some degree the 
necessity of modifying the Economical principles established 
in Europe, before they are applied to the inhabitants of this 
country. 



THE SCIENCE OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 131 

The Malthusian principle, that population tends to increase 
faster than the means of subsistence, cannot be admitted, if a 
necessary connection can be shown between enlargement in the 
number of human beings and the augmentation of provision 
for their support. At first sight, such a connection would seem 
to exist. More cultivators will raise more products. A farmer 
who owns a hundred acres, and has but two sons to assist him 
in his labors, will suffer a portion of his ground to remain cov- 
ered with wood, will entirely neglect some fields where the soil 
is lean and stony, and plough up in the whole, perhaps, not 
more than a tenth part of his possessions. Ask him why he 
does no more; and he will reply that he has not a sufficient 
number of hands. His " boys " and himself have enough to 
employ their time as it is. But should the number of his fam- 
ily increase to ten, a portion of the woodland is cleared up, the 
scattered stones are collected and formed into walls to pro- 
tect the crops from the winds and invigorate the soil by their 
warmth ; thrice as much land is dug up and sown, and the har- 
vest is proportionally increased. The family is farther re- 
moved than before from the fear of want, for there is a yet 
larger surplus to be sent to market. Increase the number of 
laborers and the disposition to toil, and who shall prescribe 
bounds to the productiveness of the earth ? Nature has scarped 
the mountain's side, but human industry has chiselled it into 
terraces, transported soil to the spot, and converted the bare 
and steep face of the rock into a smiling vineyard. It has 
drained the fens, and drawn the sustenance of life from the 
place which formerly sent forth only noxious and fatal ex- 
halations. It has banked out the ocean, and where once the 
fisherman plied his oar and fleets were anchored, the fields are 
now waving with corn. 

But the disciple of Malthus, chuckling over the powers of 
the " geometrical ratio," measures the earth, ascertains the 
number of square miles on its surface, and tells us how soon 
the human race, doubling once in twenty-five years, must come 
to jostling each other in their daily walks. He forgets that 
the speculation relates only to a distant futurity, that no coun- 
try can yet be shown where the most approved methods of cul- 
tivation are carried to the utmost extent, and where a portion 



132 THE UTILITY AND THE LIMITATIONS OF 

of the inhabitants still perish from starvation. Moreover, the 
facilities of commercial intercourse are now so extended, that 
the theory cannot be applied, — it can have no practical truth, 
— till human industry and skill have exhausted the productive 
powers of the whole earth, till the last foot of ground has been 
tilled, and the last resources of agriculture have failed to meet 
the increased demand. If population ceases to advance before 
this point is attained, the evil lies somewhere else. The proper 
remedy is not to check the demand, but to enlarge the supply. 
The inmates of an Irish hovel may die by actual famine, or by 
any one of the thousand diseases consequent on wants imper- 
fectly supplied ; but while Ireland continues to export many 
articles of food, the evil must be attributed, not to the insuffi- 
ciency of the Creator's bounty, but to the failure of human 
efforts to second His beneficent designs. The cause is artificial 
and remediable. The stores of Nature are not consumed, but 
they are unequally distributed. The legislature may find it dif- 
ficult to effect a more equal division of the means of subsistence 
without infringing the right of property, and causing evils a 
thousand-fold greater than any which result from the present 
constitution of things. Still the remedy is possible, and the 
check upon population is unnecessary. In this country, we are 
accustomed to believe that many of the particular provisions 
of English law tend needlessly to favor and increase this 
inequality of private fortunes. For instances, we need only 
allude to the constitution of the Irish Protestant church, the 
tithe system, and the peculiar modes of taxation, which favor 
absenteeism among the great landed proprietors. A compari- 
son of our own institutions with those of England, displaying 
the effect of each on the distribution of/wealth, on the accu- 
mulation and perpetuity of overgrown private fortunes, would 
form an interesting chapter in an American treatise on Eco- 
nomical science. 

The system of Malthus was originally proposed to refute 
those dreams of human perfectibility which Godwin advanced 
in his treatise on Political Justice. Could the moral and in- 
tellectual character of the race be changed, Malthus argued, — 
could equality of property be maintained without destroying the 
incitements to toil, and the rules of natural morality and jus- 



THE SCIENCE OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 133 

tice be universally enforced without the sanction of law or the 
dread of punishment, — in a word, could man become a per- 
fectly wise and virtuous being, the fecundity of the species 
would still prove an insurmountable obstacle to the indefinite 
growth and continuance of happiness. As all the checks on 
population existing at present would be done away, the race 
must multiply till the crowded earth could receive no more ; 
contests for place must then ensue, occasioning a new class of 
evils, that would carry man back to his state of original im- 
perfection. We cannot get rid of the difficulty respecting the 
origin of evil by showing that sin and misery are remediable, 
and continue only by our own fault. In a greater or less de- 
gree, they form part of the necessary constitution of things. 
At present, however, such speculations respecting the tendency 
of population are wholly inapplicable. In the most civilized 
countries, the advancement of the race has stopped at a point 
far short of that which it is capable of attaining. We are 
practically concerned only with a class of evils, the remedies 
for which are within our reach, and can be attained without 
any necessary diminution in the numbers of mankind. 

The question respecting the unlimited accumulation of capi- 
tal, and its probable effects, admits of a similar solution. The 
natural desire for enjoyments is always sufficient to exhaust the 
productive power of machines and human agency united, when- 
ever a virtual equality of means removes all check upon the 
demand, except the satiety that results from continued gratifi- 
cation. But the inordinate aggregation of capital in the hands 
of a few limits from necessity the requirements of the larger 
class ; while the luxurious imagination of a Sybarite cannot so 
enlarge the demands of the smaller number as to make up the 
deficiency. Confining our attention to dress, for instance, if 
ninety-nine out of a hundred are compelled to use only the 
coarsest and cheapest stuffs, a small portion of their productive 
agency will suffice to clothe themselves ; the surplus of in- 
dustry can be employed only in devising and executing very 
costly fabrics to gratify the tasteful and capricious inclinations 
of the fortunate individual. So it is with articles of food, and 
with all the appurtenances of household luxury and comfort. 
The wealthy must expend in wanton gratifications what is 



134 THE UTILITY AND THE LIMITATIONS OF 

saved from the forced privations of the poor, or the demand 
will stop short of the means of supply. Equalize to a greater 
extent the distribution of wealth, and the retrenchment of un- 
necessary expenses on the part of the few is far more than 
compensated by the enlargement of expenditures by the mul- 
titude. If each of a hundred individuals wears broadcloth of 
a moderate fineness, more industry will be employed in manu- 
facture than if ninety-nine used only the coarsest serge, and 
the hundredth paraded his delicate person in silks and satins. 
Of course, we advocate no Agrarian scheme of distribution, the 
impolicy of which, in an Economical point of view, is demon- 
strable on the simplest principles of the science. The grand 
problem which the legislator has to solve is to diffuse wealth 
as equally as possible through the community, without infring- 
ing in the slightest degree the right of property. The conse- 
quence of such infringement must be, not equality of distri- 
bution, but universal impoverishment. We contend that many 
European institutions favor the inordinate and unnecessary 
aggregation of capital in a few hands, and perpetuate the so- 
cial evils which their political theorists seek in vain to remedy, 
because they wilfully shut their eyes to the only real cause. 
We refer particularly to the right of primogeniture and the 
laws of entail, which are as pernicious in their Economical 
effects as they are absurd in morals. 

They operate as a clog upon industry, because they remove 
the most powerful of all incitements to toil, — the hope of im- 
proving one's condition in life. Where they exist, the barriers 
between the several classes in society are so lofty that, though 
a passage downwards in the ranks is always possible, nothing 
but the most extraordinary conjuncture of circumstances can 
ever enable a common laborer to pass up to a higher grade. 
To maintain his position, to secure a bare subsistence for him- 
self and family, is the only object which he can reasonably 
keep in view ; and he will ordinarily confine his labors to that 
end. If he can earn in four days what will maintain him 
through the week, he will be idle the other three. But place 
before him the hope, founded on the constant fluctuations of 
wealth that are going on around him, of securing a more ele- 
vated position, and the task imposed by necessity is changed 



THE SCIENCE OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. 135 

into a labor of love. Nature has made ample provision for 
this effect. Wealth is never stationary, where her laws are not 
perverted by human institutions. The property of a father is 
distributed among his children, and subdivided to an indefinite 
extent by descendants in the third degree. The industry and 
providence of a family in one generation are counteracted by 
the folly and spenclthriftness of the next. This is the equality 
established by Nature, in contradistinction from that main- 
tained by theorists, — an equality not of actual provision, but 
of opportunities. The right of primogeniture and laws of en- 
tail destroy this beneficial arrangement, by removing one class 
in society from the operation of fear, and depriving the other 
and larger portion of hope. 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

FROM THE PRINCETON REVIEW FOR MARCH, 1878. 

In a living human body, viewed objectively, there are mani- 
fested two distinct classes of phenomena, which are recognized 
in every language as perfectly distinguishable from each other, 
being in fact so unlike that they have not a single feature in 
common. These are, first, merely 'physical appearances, all 
of which are reducible to modes of extension and motion, and 
which are witnessed or made known to us only through the 
corporeal organs of sense, chiefly through sight and touch. 
Secondly, there are the psychical phenomena of cognitive per- 
ception, feeling, and volition, which are not, in themselves or 
under their first and obvious aspect, modes either of extension 
or motion, which cannot be even imagined or conceived as 
such, and are not manifested through the senses, but are made 
known to us in the first instance solely through that internal 
power which we call consciousness. Because these two classes 
of phenomena are so unlike, — unlike both in their nature, and 
in the sources or agencies through which our knowledge of them 
is obtained, — the common opinion of mankind attributes them 
respectively to two entirely distinct substances or entities, 
called Body and Mind, or the conscious Self. The distinction 
between them is even so obvious, that it is recognized in every 
language ; and the knowledge of it therefore precedes specula- 
tion, and is anterior to all science and philosophy ; for language 
is the expression and record of the primitive observation and 
unprejudiced common-sense of mankind. 

These .two classes of phenomena are further distinguished as 
being external or internal to him who observes them. The 
former, the physical phenomena, are supposed to be out of us, 
and are known only through the motion which brings some 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 137 

portion of the external matter in contact with our organs of 
sense. The latter, the psychical phenomena, are within us, 
and are cognized directly, without any apparent motion, and 
without the intervention of any corporeal organ of sense, by 
that indivisible being whom every one calls Himself. Again, 
because the physical phenomena are external, and are cog- 
nizable through the senses, each of them may be witnessed 
simultaneously by many independent observers ; the whole au- 
dience of a speaker may behold his gestures and hear his ut- 
tered words. But the psychical phenomena, the action of that 
speaker's mind, cannot be observed by any person but himself. 
We who hear him know what he says, but we cannot, except 
through his report, know what he thinks. As Cardinal Man- 
ning says, " No one outside of us knows us as we know our- 
selves within. St. Paul asks, ' What man knoweth the things 
of man but the spirit of man that is in him ? ' " Still further, 
the physical change itself can become known only through a 
psychical attestation of it, the observer being distinct from the 
fact observed. But a psychical phenomenon, so to speak, wit- 
nesses itself by an act of consciousness, and thus supplies the 
only possible evidence of its own existence. Thus, the color 
of the sky, the fragrance of the rose, the heat of the fire, are 
nothing to me, and do not even exist, except as perceived by 
an act of my mind ; but that act of mind is a conscious one, 
the knowledge that it exists being inseparable from the fact of 
its existence. All physical phenomena, moreover, because they 
are modes of extension and motion, consist of parts external to 
each other, partes extra partes, and so are complex and divis- 
ible without limit, an absolute unit either of space or time be- 
ing inconceivable. But a state of consciousness, be it a per- 
ception, a feeling, or a volition, is properly indivisible, having 
no relation to space and no proper duration in time, being com- 
plete and fully determinable in character at the first and only 
moment of its being, what is called its " continuity " being 
only a succession of its repeated acts. 

The distinguishing characteristics of the two classes of phe- 
nomena, so far as they have been thus analyzed, may be con- 
veniently summed up in a tabular form. 



138 DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

PHYSICAL. PSYCHICAL. 

1. All are modes of extension and 1. None of them can be conceived 
motion. either as extended or as moving. 

2. They can be observed only through 2. They are never cognizable by the 
the action of the senses. senses, but are witnessed solely by con- 
sciousness. 

3. They are external to the observer. 3. They are internal to the observer. 

4. Each may be witnessed simulta- 4. They can be immediately known 
neously by many observers. only by the one person who experiences 

them. 

5. What is physical can be known 5. What is psychical is known per se, 
only through what is psychical. the phenomenon being its own attesta- 
tion. 

6. The observer is distinct from the 6. The act of observing and the fact 
fact observed. observed are one and the same thing. 

7. They consist of parts external to 7. They have no distinction of parts, 
each other, and are therefore divisible and so are indivisible. 

without limit. 

Now the great question which we have to consider is, 
whether these two classes of phenomena are manifestations 
of two coexisting and perfectly distinguishable substances, 
entities, or things lying behind or beneath them, these two 
being designated respectively as Matter and Mind, or the 
thinking Self ; or whether they are only two aspects of one 
and the same entity or substance. In other words, is man a 
dual being, composed of Body and Soul, these two acting, for 
a while at least, together and in concert, or is man really one 
in his inmost nature and being; this one, according to the 
Materialist, being only relatively one, a mere aggregate of 
various sorts of matter, a structure curiously put together of 
chemical atoms ; or, according to the Idealist, being mind and 
mind only, and so absolutely simple and indivisible, what we 
call our Body being a mere shadow, form without substance, 
a mental picture existing solely in the mind and for the mind ? 
Here issue is joined ; this is the whole question, than which 
a graver and more pregnant one cannot be stated. Dualism, 
Materialism, or Idealism, — which will you adopt? 

It is curious that the answer to this question depends very 
much on the person respecting whom it is asked. If you ask 
it respecting any other man than yourself, and confine your 
attention entirely to what you directly know of him, then you 
must accept the doctrine of Materialism. To you, any other 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 139 

man appears as one body among other bodies, a mere aggre- 
gate of atoms, manifesting only physical characteristics. For 
all that you immediately know of him, he may be a mere 
automaton, like Maelzel's chess-player, making gestures and 
uttering sounds, indeed, though, apart from the purely con- 
ventional significance which you see fit to attach to them, 
those gestures and sounds have no more meaning than the 
flapping of a windmill's arms and sails, the notes sounded on 
a flute, or the screeches of a locomotive. Viewed from the 
outside, which is all that is accessible to sense, man is only 
a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved. Hence, 
Descartes, regarding animals only externally, concluded with 
perfect justice that they were mere machines, destitute of feel- 
ing, and therefore that there was no cruelty in beating them, 
or even in dissecting them while still apparently alive. Rea- 
soning in like manner, another philosopher propounds this 
grave question : Suppose a skilful mechanic, as much excelling 
a Vaucanson or a Maelzel as either of these excelled a com- 
mon carpenter, should construct a wooden figure perfectly 
resembling my footman, dressed in the same livery, and per- 
forming with equal adroitness every menial task that was 
required of him ; should I be able to detect the cheat, and 
perceive that an automaton had been substituted for my ser- 
vant? Certainly not, I answer; though perchance a doubt 
might sometimes occur, whether the mechanical, and therefore 
exact and unvarying, obedience rendered to my commands by 
this eidolon was not more than could be reasonably expected 
of any but a superhuman footman. I might suppose that he 
was above, but never that he was below, humanity. 

On the other hand, whoever puts the question as referring 
exclusively to himself, must receive just the opposite answer. 
According to all the evidence which is here available, every 
man is to himself purely an ideal being, and all around him 
is ideal. Matter comes not near him, does not enter into his 
composition, does not even exist. As already stated, what is 
physical can be known only through what is psychical. You 
and all other men, my own body included, are mere impres- 
sions made upon my mind, mere pictures floating before my 
fancy. Sun, moon, and stars are nothing to me, except as 



140 DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

bodiless images reflected in the glass of my consciousness. 
Perhaps I dreamed of you last night, and as personages in 
that dream, you were certainly unreal or immaterial. Who 
will give me any valid assurance that I am not merely dream- 
ing of you now ? As Leibnitz said long ago, "It is only by 
what is within us, that we have any knowledge of what is out- 
side." At the best, the existence of matter as such is only an 
inference ; it is never known immediately and in itself, but we 
infer that it exists as the unknown cause of the sensations in 
our minds. All that we do know immediately, as distinct 
from our consciousness, is the presence of a resisting Force, a 
Power not ourselves, with which we come directly in contact 
when we strike hand or foot against what is outside ; and this 
is enough to assure us that we live in a real world, peopled 
with beings like ourselves. But that this foreign agency, this 
resisting Force, comes from dead and inert particles of matter, 
is a mere figment of the imagination ; it is a crude and base- 
less hypothesis. Hence there is a contradiction in assuming, 
as Kant does, that both external and internal presentations to 
consciousness have merely phe?iomenal truth, both in the same 
manner and to the same degree. For the phenomenal truth 
of what is physical presupposes the real truth of what is psy- 
chical, the former being known only through the latter ; that 
is, if the psychical event were not a real and direct presenta- 
tion to consciousness, the physical phenomena would not even 
appear. I may reasonably doubt whether the picture in my 
mind correctly represents an external reality ; but I cannot 
doubt that this mental picture itself is an internal reality, for 
its presence is immediately attended by consciousness. To 
adopt a parallel case, the accused would not even seem to be 
guilty, if circumstances and witnesses did not actually testify 
against him. As Leibnitz remarks, " There may be intel- 
ligible reason for error in our mediate and external percep- 
tions ; but if our immediate internal experience could pos- 
sibly deceive us, there could not be for us any truth of fact 
whatsoever." 

This distinction between the immediate apprehension of 
reality, and the merely phenomenal presentation of it, becomes 
more important when we pass from qualities to the substance 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 141 

or thing in which those qualities are supposed to inhere. The 
substance of Matter is not even phenomenally apprehended. 
It does not even appear to be. It lies hid behind an impen- 
etrable veil. So far as our knowledge of it is concerned, Mat- 
ter is only what is supposed to be contained in a husk or shell, 
which, as it can be looked at only from the outside, may be 
empty for all that we know. We cannot crack the nut, so as 
to ascertain whether it is full or void. All its qualities are 
manifested merely at its surface, and can never be known to 
be more than skin-deep. Of course, what we term Body can 
be indefinitely subdivided. But the atom is the ultimate ele- 
ment of matter, Body being merely an aggregate of atoms, 
each of which, as its name imports, is absolutely indivisible 
and absolutely hard. After all, the atom of the chemist is a 
mere conception of the mind ; it is too minute to be separately 
apprehended by the senses, and is properly thought only as 
form without substance. Hence it is but the ghost of matter, 
and that which is exclusively constituted from it by mere 
aggregation is equally unsubstantial. 

On the other hand, the substance, here called the Subject, 
of psychical phenomena is manifested directly and in itself, 
through the same indivisible act of consciousness by which I 
apprehended its successive states or attributes. That sentient 
and thinking Subject, which every one calls "I," or Self, is an 
indispensable factor in every immediate presentation to con- 
sciousness. A sensation or thought is nothing to me except 
so far as I am conscious of it as mine, — that is, as the state 
or condition in which I exist for that moment. What I am 
directly conscious of is not an abstraction, such as a sound or 
a color, but the concrete fact, " I hear the sound," or " I see 
the color." Neither the sound nor the color exists, as a pres- 
ent reality, if it is not now perceived ; and it cannot be per- 
ceived, except I am conscious of Myself as perceiving it ; for 
there is no perception without a percipient, no action without 
an agent. As already remarked, I have not a phenomenal, 
but an immediate and intuitive, knowledge of the existence 
of the sensation ; and from what has now been stated, it nec- 
essarily follows that I have an immediate and intuitive knowl- 
edge of Myself as sentient, instead of having merely a phe« 



142 DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

nomenal cognition of that Self through its manifestations, or 
an indirect assurance of its reality by inference from other 
cognitions. 

Still further ; I not only know that it is, but also, to a con- 
siderable extent, I know what it is, — namely, that it is abso- 
lutely one and indivisible, and that it is identical with itself 
throughout its successive manifestations. I know it as abso- 
lutely one and the same being under all its variety of aspects, 
and in all the remembered stages of its existence. On each 
of these points, we have the distinct and irrefragable testimony 
of conscience as well as of consciousness. No one ever at- 
tempts to divide and parcel out his responsibility for any act, 
either as between different portions of Himself at the same 
time, or between a past and a present Self as distinct beings 
at different times. This, indeed, is the proper idea and sig- 
nificance of what we call Personality, that it is constituted by 
the unity, continuity, and identity of our conscious being. It 
is only by a figure of speech, and that a somewhat strained 
and unnatural one, that we ever speak of a former Self as 
contradistinguished in any way whatsoever, except as acting 
differently, from the Self now present to consciousness. Usu- 
ally, when we compare one thing with another and find that 
they perfectly resemble each other, we say that they are not 
different, but the same ; but what we mean is, that they are 
merely similar, not that they are numerically the same. Only 
in this figurative and limited sense do we say, for instance, 
that the speaker uses " the same " gesture, or utters " the 
same " word ; of course, they are not numerically the same, 
each being the result of a second and distinct act of muscular 
exertion. But it is only by a metaphor that I speak of compar- 
ing my former with my present Self. There is really no com- 
parison in this case, since what are called two are immediately 
and intuitively perceived to be one and the same, numerically 
the same, though present at two separate times. It is a neces- 
sary and intuitive recognition of oneness of substance, — of 
the absolute identity of the agent in two distinct acts. That 
the child is father of the man, is but half the truth ; so far as 
memory extends, the child is the man, with a common con- 
sciousness and an indivisible responsibility. Call up any dis- 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 143 

tinctly remembered act of your childhood, perchance a repented 
one of wilfulness, petulance, or sin, and try to convince your- 
self that you are not the same being who did it, but that it was 
the act of another Self ; or even that you are only in part the 
same, and in part different. You cannot do it. The interven- 
ing years have indeed enlarged your knowledge, altered your 
habits, and increased your powers; but the piercing eye of 
consciousness reveals instinctively and at once, under these 
phenomenal changes, the unbroken continuity and identity of 
your inmost being, your real Self. 

With this persistent unity and sameness of the thinking 
mind, contrast the incessant mutations of what appears as our 
corporeal organism. Physiology has proved beyond all ques- 
tion, that my body is kept up only through a constant process 
of flux and renovation. Throughout every portion of it, waste 
and repair, excretion and accretion, balance each other, so 
that every tissue is, so to speak, an embodiment of change. 
We cannot descend twice into the same river ; no two days 
together do we inhabit the same body. It is true that our 
mental life also seems to survive only through a similar inces- 
sant change of its states of consciousness. But in both cases, 
the mutation is witnessed and measured, so to speak, by what 
is immutable ; just as the flow of a quiet stream can be de- 
tected and estimated only by its drifting past a rock or some 
immovable object on its banks. The conscious Self, one and 
the same throughout its whole remembered history, is that 
which beholds all change, and without which any change 
would be imperceptible, but which, in itself, is as immutable 
as any star in the evening sky. A river of thought is perpet- 
ually flowing through our minds ; but it is only the objects 
which thus flit past, like rapidly shifting images in a mirror, 
while the thinking subject is the steadfast eye which beholds 
them come and go. Vainly do we strive to arrest what in 
its very nature and essence is so fugitive. What we call the 
same problem, indeed, the same knotty subject of reflection, 
may steadily be kept in view through long hours of anxious 
pondering and research ; but it is really not the same for any 
two successive moments. According to the common phrase, 
we are turning it over in our minds, so that it is perpetually 



144 DUALISM, MATEKIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

appearing under a novel aspect, and in altered relations to the 
fresh collateral topics which are ever clustering around it 
and dividing our attention. So we may hunt the same game 
during successive hours or days ; but the chase constantly 
hurries us onward into regions hitherto unexplored, fresh 
scenes and incidents rising around us at every moment. The 
huntsman is the same all the while, the various scenes of the 
landscape through which he rides being all successively pho- 
tographed and compared with each other in his indivisible 
consciousness. 

The essential oneness and identity of the thinking Self are 
necessarily involved and presupposed in the exercise of every 
function of thought. The mind could not do its work, if it 
were merely a shifting aggregate of distinct parts ; it could 
not reduce plurality to unity ; to adopt the phraseology of 
Kant, it could not grasp together the manifold of intuition 
into the unity of apprehension, if the artificial and virtual unit 
thus formed were not a mere reflection of the absolute sim- 
plicity and unchangeableness of the thinking Subject. Logic 
teaches us, that the intellect is necessarily a unifying faculty. 
The process of cognition is always a synthesis — a putting to- 
gether of many into one, through comparing the elements with 
each other and discerning their mutual relations ; and this is 
possible only because the understanding is one and the same 
in every portion of its work. Even the simplest act of percep- 
tion is a construction of the plurality of parts and attributes 
of the perceived object into one whole, whereby we recognize 
it as coming under a previously formed concept, and therefore 
as designated by a name common to it with other individuals 
of the same class. But if the mind is itself a manifold without 
unity, either a mere bundle of sensations or a series of isolated 
thoughts, it cannot unite the disjecta membra of experience 
into an object of cognition, and thus knowledge itself becomes 
impossible. 

Let me illustrate the necessity of this oneness of the think- 
ing principle a little farther. Even the semblance of duality 
must be excluded. Thus, a congenitally blind person and an- 
other who is congenitally deaf, merely because they are two 
distinct individuals, though their bodies should be as closely 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 145 

united as were those of the Siamese twins, cannot, by combin- 
ing their information, come to know that a color is different 
from a sound. Then my knowledge that these two distinct 
phenomena of sight and hearing are radically unlike each other 
must be due to the fact that I am one and the same person 
who perceives them both. Any two objects or two sensations, 
in order that they may be compared with each other, must be 
united in a common consciousness ; and that is impossible, ex- 
cept on the supposition of the absolute unity of that conscious- 
ness. Hence, I can never be sure that an orange raises in 
your mind the same sensation of color that it does in mine ; 
for though we agree to call it by the same name, the word yel- 
low designates in either case only the peculiar sensation which 
each of us receives from the orange. In order to be sure that 
your sensation so designated perfectly resembles mine, I must 
not only get inside your skull and look out through your eyes, 
but I must be melted and absorbed into your self-conscious- 
ness ; we must cease to be two and become one. 

Both the doctrine and the argument here are far from new, 
but were clearly and forcibly presented by Plato in the " Theae- 
tetus," and again by Aristotle, from whom they were adopted 
by Descartes, though the physiologists of our own day seem to 
have lost sight of them altogether. I borrow in part Professor 
Archer Butler's exposition of the reasoning of Aristotle upon 
this point. There must be, he argues, one receptacle — a com- 
mon and higher sense, which brings together the special per- 
ceptions of the several distinct senses, so as to harmonize them 
into one system of knowledge through discerning their mutual 

relations : rwv ISiW aldBrjrripioiv ev tl kolvov iartv alo-OrjTrjpLov, eis o 
tols kolt ei/epyeiav aicr^cret*; avayKauov aTravrav. " The differences of 

things sensible must be apprehended by sense. Yet this de- 
tector of differences cannot be any peculiar or special sense 
among the five external ones, for each can but perceive its own 
object, and none can compare with the rest ; ovre Kexwp«r/xeVois 
e^Se^erat Kplvziv. It can no more be effected by distinct senses, 
than by distinct persons. There must then be some single 
faculty of sensation, the common judge of all. Nor, again, can 
the objects be presented to the sense in different times, any 
more than by different organs, if a single indivisible judgment 

10 



146 DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

is to be pronounced ; the two objects must be included in the 
one instantaneous judgment. Only if A and B are both sim- 
ultaneously present to consciousness, can I judge that A is B. 
Hence, there must exist some common centre of sensation, in 
which all the sensations of all the senses are received and com- 
pared." 

Take now the confident assertions of the Materialists, and 
see how incompetent they are to grasp the fundamental con- 
ditions of the problem which they undertake to solve. " By 
the study of physiology," says Dr. Maudsley, "it has been 
placed beyond doubt," [observe the magisterial dogmatism of 
affirmation, it has been placed beyond doubt,'] " that the nerve- 
cells, which exist in countless numbers — about six hundred 
millions in number, according to Meynert's calculations — in 
the gray matter spread over the surface of the hemispheres, are 
the nervous centres of ideas." It is satisfactory to know that 
we have so large a number of ideas on hand for the further- 
ance of our intellectual labors, though it is somewhat remarka- 
ble that the brain of any clown, having the ordinary amount of 
gray matter covering it, is about as richly furnished with them 
as that of a Newton or a Leibnitz. With equally unfaltering 
assurance, Dr. Maudsley proceeds to inform us, that the cerebral 
hemispheres " are superadded in man and the higher animals 
for the further fashioning of sensory impressions into ideas or 
conceptions." But each sensation is particular and individual, 
representing only the one object or quality by which it is im- 
printed on the sense ; while the idea or concept is general, 
standing for a whole class of objects or attributes, to each of 
which it bears a definite relation. Remembered experience of 
an indefinite number of particular things belonging to this class 
is therefore needed to constitute the idea ; and how is such ex- 
perience possible, how can many memories be garnered up in 
one thought, except through the unifying action of one think- 
ing principle which originally witnessed them all ? Memory 
is possible only on the supposition of the continuous identity 
of him who remembers. My testimony as an eye-witness of 
what took place yesterday or a week ago is admissible only on 
the ground that I am still the same being who beheld the oc- 
currence. In like manner, the presence of countless ideas in 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 147 

my brain, each enshrined in its own nerve-cell, would avail me 
nothing, except so far as every one of them is distinctly recog- 
nized as mine, or as the phase for the moment of my indivisi- 
ble consciousness. I must exert a coordinating power over 
them, discerning their relations to each other, separating and 
combining them, and thus elaborating them into distinct trains 
of thought and orderly systems of knowledge. Otherwise, the 
presence in my brain of a crude mass of details mechanically 
imprinted at haphazard on the gray matter there, and each 
isolated on its own nerve-centre, would generate only confusion, 
and leave me just as helpless and impotent as if my mind were 
a blank. 

One is not surprised, then, to find Dr. Maudsley, on the very 
next page of his book, frankly admitting that his whole theory 
is a blank hypothesis, without a shred of evidence in its favor. 
" So exquisitely delicate," he says, " are the organic processes 
of mental development which take place in the nerve-centres 
of the cortical layers, that they are certainly, so far as our pres- 
ent means of investigation reach, quite impenetrable to the 
senses ; the mysteries of their secret operations cannot be un- 
ravelled ; they are like nebulas which no telescope can yet re- 
solve. Nor will it be thought reasonable to ask such knowledge, 
when we reflect that we have not yet the means of knowing 
the properties and structure of the molecule of any liquid or 
solid — what are its internal motions and what are the parts 
and shape of it." Then the senses, even when aided by the 
highest powers of the microscope, tell us nothing about what 
is taking place within any one of the six hundred millions of 
the nerve cells. They do not enable us to see the ideas therein 
contained ; and even if the ideas were like colored bits of glass, 
perceptible by sense, (which they certainly are not,) there 
would still be needed an eye, one common power of vision, to 
behold them there. Consciousness, pure and simple, the only 
other organ of knowledge which we possess, surely does not 
teach us anything whatever about the physical constitution of 
the brain. The ideas themselves tell us nothing about their 
local habitation within the skull. But if neither the senses 
nor consciousness, our sole means of information, give us any 
testimony on the subject, how comes it to be " placed beyond 



148 DUALISM, MATEKIALISM, OE IDEALISM. 

doubt " that, within the gray matter of the brain, are found 
"the nervous centres of ideas "as distinguished from sensations, 
and that the cerebral hemispheres in man and the higher ani- 
mals are organized for the very purpose of " fashioning sensory 
impressions into ideas or conceptions " ? 

One of the highest authorities in physiology, Prof. Huxley, 
though he has a strong bias towards materialism, frankly ad- 
mits, that " there is no satisfactory proof at present that the 
manifestation of any particular kind of mental faculty is spe- 
cially allotted to, or connected with, the activity of any partic- 
ular region of the cerebral hemispheres." 

We understand what is said to us only on condition of re- 
membering the earlier uttered half of the sentence, while we are 
hearing the later half. Even if each of these halves has its 
separate locality, the indivisible coordinating mind must still 
bring them together and apprehend them as a unit, before the 
meaning of the sentence as a whole becomes intelligible ; other- 
wise, each half might as well be whispered separately, under 
strict injunctions of secrecy, to the two Siamese twins. 

In the seventeenth century, the favorite hypothesis for ex- 
plaining the intercourse of mind with body was that of " the 
animal spirits" — fluids far more subtile than the lightest gas, 
which permeate the brain and swiftly traverse the conduits of 
the nerves, and thereby harmonize and transmit the activities 
of the intellect and the will. Then Dr. Hartley set forth his 
doctrine of the vibrations and vibratiuncles of the substance of 
the nerves, which appears still to be the favorite theory of the 
German materialists. Somewhat later, electricity travelling 
along the nerves, and stimulating the action of the brain, be- 
came the deus ex machina, the motive-power of the machine, 
and is still frequently appealed to as explanatory of psychical 
processes. Then Mr. Herbert Spencer applies to chemical af- 
finities for an explanation of the problem, and conceives mental 
processes as repeated acts of resolving and reconstituting mole- 
cules in a condition of unstable equilibrium. " Nerve-centres 
disintegrated by action," he says, " are perpetually reintegrat- 
ing themselves, and again becoming fit for action ; " and hence 
with unhesitating assurance, though without a particle of evi- 
dence, he announces his foreordained conclusion, " we have 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 149 

good reason to conclude that, at the particular place in a supe- 
rior nervous centre, where, in some mysterious way, an object- 
ive change or nervous action causes a subjective change or feel- 
ing, there exists a quantitative equivalence between the two." 
Quantitative equivalence indeed ! But then whence conies the 
difference in quality between one thought and another; be- 
tween the inspired creations of genius and the platitudes of a 
clown ? Since the chemical see-saw of setting up nerve-mole- 
cules in the brain, and knocking them down again, is essen- 
tially and forever the same, like atoms always forming like 
compounds, it ought to produce precisely the same result in a 
grave-digger s skull as in a Hamlet's. In fact, why should not 
one and the same thought be reiterated forever, since two atoms 
of hydrogen with one of oxygen never yield anything but 
pure water ? A later authority than Mr. Spencer discourses 
about " the peculiar discharge of undulatory motion between 
cerebral ganglia, that uniformly accompanies a feeling or state 
of consciousness." But no microscope ever disclosed any un- 
dulatory movement whatever in the brain ; and the doctrine 
of the concomitance of any such action with the processes of 
abstract thought is as purely fanciful as the Cartesian hypothe- 
sis of the circulation of " the animal spirits." 

All conjectures of this sort are crude, unmeaning, and un- 
scientific. They contradict each other, they are entirely devoid 
of evidence, and they throw no light whatever upon the prob- 
lem in hand, which is the nature of the connection between the 
body and the mind. Of course, such a connection exists, for 
man is a thinking animal, that is, a dual being ; and this con- 
nection takes place through the nervous system, by means of 
which impressions on the senses and volitions are transmitted 
between the outer surface and the consciousness. But dissec- 
tion of the nervous system can never discover the particular 
point in it which is the presence-chamber of the thinking-Self, 
such as Descartes thought he found in the pineal gland ; for 
as Mind is not a mode either of extension or motion, it has no 
relation to place ; and consciousness tells us that it is, in fact, 
ubiquitous to the whole nervous organism. It is wherever it 
acts and feels ; for it is a contradiction that anything should 
act where it is not — that is, should get outside of itself, or 



150 DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

jump out of its own skin. Such action would be like that as- 
cribed to Baron Miinchhausen, who lifted himself out of the 
river by his own pigtail — that is, he got out of himself. Now, 
as long as the connection of the parts with each other remains 
inviolate, I do unquestionably act and feel throughout every 
ganglion and fibre of my whole nervous system, usually with 
consciousness, though sometimes unconsciously. Then I am 
actually present, in propria persona, in the tips of my fingers, 
wherewith I feel my pen, and write this sentence ; in the ner- 
vous papillae which line my mouth, wherewith I taste, but not 
wherewith my tongue and palate taste — for they are material 
and insentient, sensation proper being surely the prerogative 
of mind alone. Sensation is not double ; my palate does not 
first taste, and then, afterwards and as a consequence, I taste ; 
but I taste through my palate. Such is the testimony of con- 
sciousness, surely. In like manner, I am present in the retina 
of my organ of vision, where I behold colors, and not where 
my eyeball beholds them, for that is in front of the retina and 
distinct from it, so that it is merely my organ or telescope. 

Moreover, this omnipresence of the thinking Self to its 
whole nervous organism is not effected through diffusion, or by 
partition and separate allotment, one portion of it being here 
and another portion there. But because it is absolutely one 
and indivisible, it is all in every part ; it spreads undivided, 
operates unspent. Thus it is that the relation of the human 
Soul to the limited theatre of its own activities typifies the re- 
lation of the Infinite One to the universe. Each fills with an 
undivided presence the whole sphere of its being : " Whither 
shall I go from thy spirit ? or whither shall I flee from thy 
presence ? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there ; if I 
make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the 
wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the 
sea ; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand 
shall hold me." What is meant by the distinction of our 
several faculties is but a verbal difference, — is a mere con- 
venience for classifying the successive or simultaneous acts of 
one and the same being. It is not my intellect which thinks, 
but I think. It is not my will which energizes, but I act ; and 
I am solely responsible for the whole act throughout all time. 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 151 

It is not my nerves which are sentient, but I feel through 
them, and compel them, as my ministers, to do my bidding. 
It is not the eye that sees, or the ear that hears, but one in- 
divisible spirit, Myself, which is percipient through these 
organs, and sums up its own various activities in one act of 
cognition, and its successive states of consciousness in one re- 
membrance. A vibration of the nerve, as well as of the air or 
the ether, may precede the audible or visual sensation ; but 
the vibration is not the sensation, for it does not, like that, 
rise into consciousness. The vibration is a phase or mode of 
motion and extension, being inconceivable without both ; but 
a state of consciousness obstinately refuses to include either. 
What is the shape, or size, or velocity of love or hate, of bit- 
terness or sourness, of anxiety or benevolence, or abstract 
thought? We see at once that the question is meaningless 
and absurd. 

This doctrine has been illustrated, with his usual wit and 
eloquence, by Mr. Ruskin. " It is quite true," he says, " that 
the tympanum of the ear vibrates under sound, and that the 
surface of the water in a ditch vibrates, too : but the ditch 
hears nothing for all that ; and my hearing is still to me as 
blessed a mystery as ever, and the interval between the ditch 
and me quite as great. If the trembling sound in my ears 
was once of the marriage-bell which began my happiness, and 
is now of the passing bell which ends it, the difference between 
these two sounds to me cannot be counted by the number 
of concussions. There have been some curious speculations 
lately, as to the conveyance of mental consciousness by 4 brain- 
waves.' What does it matter how it is conveyed ? The con- 
sciousness itself is not a wave. It may be accompanied here 
or there by any quantity of quivers and shakes, up or down, 
of anything you can find in the universe that is shakable ; 
what is that to me ? My friend is dead, and my — according 
to modern views — vibratory sorrow is not one whit less, or 
less mysterious to me, than my old quiet one." Even if we 
grant the concomitance of the two phenomena, the question 
still remains, which is cause and which is effect. What better 
right have you to say, that the vibration produced the sorrow, 
than I have to affirm, that the consciousness of sorrow caused 



152 DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

the vibration ? Surely, it is not the suffusion of blood into 
the cheeks and neck, which rouses in my mind the feeling of 
shame, but it is the consciousness of shame which calls up the 
blush. Wherein, then, can observation of the physical phe- 
nomenon throw any light on the nature of the psychical state 
which precedes it ? 

All these attempts to imagine some refined and subtile 
processes of mechanism or chemistry taking place within the 
skull, wherewith to bridge over the abyss between matter and 
thought, to make matter seem more spiritual and thought 
more gross, just as we try to approximate black to white by 
running through all the shades of gray, are but labor thrown 
away. You cannot fill up by intermediate steps the boundless 
interval between a molecule and an idea ; you cannot trans- 
mute joys and anxieties into fluids, or judgment and invention 
into the swing of a pendulum ; for they are not in eodem 
genere. Maudsley's attempt to pack distinct ideas into sepa- 
rate nerve-cells, and then to call them into more vivid activity 
by pulling some nerve-fibre like a string, is akin only to the 
folly of a child, who stuffs its doll with sawdust, and " makes- 
believe " that it is hushing a live baby to sleep. The mere 
concomitance of a mental act with a physical change proves 
nothing, and throws no light on the subject ; for there are 
many processes going on simultaneously all the time in the 
brain — such as the circulation of the blood, the wear and re- 
placement of tissues, chemical changes, the jar of atoms — any 
one of which is just as invariably concomitant as any other 
with the processes of pure thought. As the heart and the ar- 
teries are constantly pumping a rush of blood into and through 
my brain, and pumping it out again, why not identify that 
circulation with the ever-flowing river of thought, by the side 
of which my consciousness watches and waits ? Why not, 
indeed, save for the reason that a blood-corpuscle no more re- 
sembles an idea, than the sound of a trumpet is like the color 
blue or scarlet ? The two things are utterly disparate — so 
hopelessly unlike, that to mention them in the same breath is 
an absurdity. 

Let us turn, then, to another mechanical hypothesis, which 
is a very old one, though it has recently been revived and 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 153 

adorned with the fine fancy and abundant physiological knowl- 
edge of Dr. O. W. Holmes; to the supposition "that memory 
is a material record ; that the brain is scarred and seamed with 
infinitesimal hieroglyphics, as the features are engraved with the 
traces of thought and passion." But wherein am I any the 
better off from having an image, say of the battle of Gettys- 
burg, stamped on my brain, than from having one engraved and 
hung up on the wall of my stndy ? In either case, the picture 
becomes significant only so far as it is beheld by an eye which 
looks at it, and by an indivisible thinking Self which contem- 
plates its parts in their due relations to each other, and the 
whole in its relations to the foregoing and the subsequent his- 
tory of my country. There is no bodily eye, no corporeal 
organ of vision, inside of the skull, to behold the picture there 
written or stamped on the surface of the brain ; and it is only 
by apprehending these relations of the depicted event to the 
past and the future, that it really becomes known. And surely 
these relations, as they cannot be either perceived b}^ sense or 
represented by imagination, as they have no shape, or color, or 
any other sensible quality, can be apprehended only by pure 
abstract thought, without the intervention of any mechanical 
or chemical process whatsoever. That was not properly the 
field of Gettysburg which could be beheld by the eye of a horse 
or a dog, just as well as by that of a man. As regarded by a 
student of the world's history, the great determining fight be- 
tween the North and the South was something which could 
neither be depicted on canvas, nor imprinted on the pulpy sur- 
face of the brain. 

The remark is as old as Aristotle, that each of the five senses 
is only a modification of the sense of touch. Now the merely 
physical result of this touch or impact must be always the 
same ; it is only a jar of atoms, whether made on one nerve or 
another. But the percipient mind differentiates these separate 
concussions easily enough, and thereby acquires the varied 
material, the distinct data, of knowledge. Touch or agitate 
my optic nerve, and I see ; touch my auditory nerve, and I 
hear ; touch my olfactory nerve, and I smell. Between the 
mere jar of atoms, which, in either of these cases, is the only 
physical consequent of the touch, and the mental sensation 



154 DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

which is simultaneous with it, there is as wide a difference as 
between an image in a mirror and one who sees that image. 
Because all physical phenomena are modes exclusively of ex- 
tension and motion, all the differences by which they are dis- 
tinguishable from each other can be expressed in terms of 
mere quantity. It is all a question of more or less. Any one 
phenomenon has more or less extension than another, more or 
less velocity, more or less permanence, has more or fewer parts, 
and so forth. But in the world of sensations and ideas, far the 
most numerous and important distinctions are those of quality. 
In looking at the same landscape, the poet and the painter 
may not actually see more than the clown ; but they have a 
keener discernment, a nicer sense of what is fitting or beautiful, 
a fuller appreciation of harmony, a more lively perception of 
analogies, a richer store of associated ideas. And when we 
pass into the realm of pure imagination and abstract thought, 
this distinction between persons becomes world-wide. The 
man of genius does not necessarily think faster than other 
people ; he may not have more ideas in a given time. But he 
has better ones. His thoughts instruct and improve the 
world, form the minds of coming generations, and change the 
course of history. As merely the inside aspect of physical 
changes in the brain, as the mechanical or chemical action of 
the molecules of nervous substance, I cannot even imagine any 
difference between the work of an accountant summing up 
columns of figures, and that of a Newton or a Laplace, — be- 
tween the poetry of Martin F. Tupper and that of John Mil- 
ton. And if we compare men only with their peers, the 
differences between them, resulting from their respective idio- 
syncrasies, are still countless and obvious, and inexplicable on 
any hypothesis of the Materialist. 

One of the most eminent physicists in England, Prof. P. G. 
Tait, remarks : " To say that even the very lowest form of life, 
not to speak of its higher forms, still less of volition and con- 
sciousness, can be fully explained on physical principles alone 
— that is, by the mere relative motions and interactions of por- 
tions of inanimate matter, however refined and sublimated, — 
is simply unscientific. There is absolutely nothing known in 
physical science which can lend the slightest support to such an 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 155 

idea." Compare this clear and forcible statement with the as- 
sertion already quoted from Dr. Maudsley, and " placed beyond 
doubt " by him and his whole school of physiological psycholo- 
gists, and tell me which of the two savans is merely indulging 
in a midsummer-night's dream, and which presents only the 
simple and unvarnished fact. 

In beginning a study of the connection between physical and 
psychical phenomena, men are naturally misled through their 
previous experience into setting up a false standard of reality 
and a false measure of certainty. We come to the inquiry 
with a strongly preconceived opinion that the only unquestion- 
able reality is that of material objects, which can be touched, 
measured, and weighed ; that speculative truths must always 
be referred to a standard of tangible facts ; and that the only 
evidence which cannot be impeached is the testimony of the 
senses. This is because the exigencies of our compound life 
impose upon us unceasing labor, in order to provide for the 
mere physical wants of the body. We must be housed, clothed, 
and fed ; through agencies which are in great part of a mate- 
rial nature, through incessant physical efforts, we must keep 
up our intercourse with our fellow-men and cooperate with 
them in common enterprises. Even when some of the means 
for these ends are psychical, as in the communication of feel- 
ing and thought, the practical results by which success is meas- 
ured are generally physical. Hence we are deluded into 
thinking that Matter is the only real object, that mental phe- 
nomena are but unsubstantial counterfeits of what actually ex- 
ists, and that the senses are the sole inlets of what is properly 
called knowledge. But these illusions only show that we bring 
with us to our higher meditations what Lord Bacon expres- 
sively calls " the rust and the tarnish of the furnace," the cor- 
rupting or blinding influence of the petty occupations of our 
daily lives. We are too much the slaves of our senses, and 
through them are too often engrossed with material things. I 
know of nothing more degrading or unphilosophical than such 
enslavement to flesh and sense. 

Compare deliberately the two worlds in which we live, the 
one of Matter and the other of Mind, and say which presents 
the stronger evidence of reality, and which is more immediately 



156 DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

and certainly known. As already stated, what is physical is 
known only through what is psychical, and our immediate life 
and action never pass the bounds of our ideal world. Matter, 
at best, is apprehended only indirectly and by inference ; it is 
never immediately presented to consciousness. It is only a 
supposition, the unknown cause of a known effect. We are 
conscious of the sensible impression, but not of the material 
object which is supposed to produce that impression. We hear 
the sounds, but we do not directly hear the bell or the cart rat- 
tling in the street ; that is an acquired knowledge, dependent 
on foregoing experience. We see the light, but do not see the 
sun, for that is more than ninety millions of miles off. And the 
light, as distinct from the physical vibration, is only a second- 
ary quality, — that is, it exists and is visible only within the 
limits of consciousness. The senses are perpetually leading us 
astray, if not through rendering false testimony, at least 
through enticing us to found erroneous conclusions upon that 
testimony. The first lesson which even physical science has to 
teach is, to distrust the immediate evidence of the senses, as too 
often they confound the apparent with the real, the near with 
the remote, the visible with the tangible phenomena. At best, 
they furnish only the crude data of knowledge ; and it is only 
as tested and cross-examined by the intellect, that what they 
report can become a basis for science properly so called. I have 
already adverted to the fact that sensations are properly incom- 
municable and strictly peculiar to him who has them, so that 
we can never be sure that they are the same for different ob- 
servers. Sometimes, as in the case of color-blindness, a dis- 
crepancy in their testimony can be demonstrated. 

But the truths which are intuitively discerned by pure intel- 
lect acting a priori, and independently of the evidence of the 
senses, are necessarily recognized as valid, not only for him who 
now thinks them, but at all times and for all mankind. They 
are not derived from experience, but are absolute laws which 
govern all experience, and so are irreversible, even in thought. 
As Leibnitz expresses it, they are what God eternally thinks, 
and therefore cannot be abrogated even by Omnipotence. 
Created things, for the very reason that they were created, are 
contingent, and necessarily depend on the good-will and pleas- 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 157 

ure of Him who made them. But the true and the good, 
including all the relations of pure ideas, are coeternal with the 
Infinite Mind whose perfections they express, and therefore lie 
outside of the region within which alone power is applicable. 
To suppose that they could be abrogated would be to suppose 
that the Deity should act contrary to his own nature — that is, 
that he should cease to be God. As I have elsewhere said, to 
ask if the Almighty could annihilate space, or stop the flight of 
time, or contradict the truths of pure mathematics, or reverse 
the obligations of the moral law, is to ask if God could anni- 
hilate Himself. Very marvellous is it that the human mind, 
limited and imperfect as it is in all other respects, should have 
been enabled thus to rise to an intuition of these immutable 
and transcendent truths ; and pitiable must any attempt appear 
to resolve such intuition into a phenomenon of the outward 
sense, or to explain it as a physical consequence of the displace- 
ment of molecules. 

We find ourselves born into a visible and tangible universe, 
too vast to have any definite limits assignable to it by the un- 
derstanding; and we know that our own existence is relegated 
to a corner of it, which, in comparison with the whole, is almost 
too small to be appreciated. But actual being does not depend 
on magnitude ; one thing is not more real than another be- 
cause it is bigger than that other. Shall we make that huge 
aggregate of matter to be our type of reality, and regard our 
own thinking life in it as a mere phantom, an arbitrary fiction 
of thought ? Or will not a profound philosophy rather hold 
the material universe to be the phantom, and the human mind 
to be the reality in whose imagination the outer world is con- 
jured up ? If taken in its full import, we must allow that this 
question does not admit of a positive answer ; it presents a 
problem too deep to be sounded by a finite intellect. What 
the external universe is in its inmost being and essence, as a 
noumenon, or per se, apart from its manifestation to us, cannot 
be ascertained here ; we may know hereafter. As already said, 
it is known only as a foreign Force — a Power not ourselves, 
operating upon our minds. What that Force is per se, in its 
true nature, and not merely as apprehended by sense and 
thought, God only knows. But thus much we may confidently 



158 DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

affirm, that the material universe, according to the vulgar con- 
ception of it, as a huge mass of inert and lifeless molecules, 
with all the sensible qualities commonly attributed to them, 
and supposed to exist independently of any mind whatever, is 
a mere fiction constructed by human thought. It is built up 
only in our imagination; and we can easily retrace the process 
through which it is put together out of few and thin filaments 
of absolute being. 

What we call " Nature " is an aggregate of sensible objects 
coexisting in space, and of events occurring successively in 
time. To adopt Kant's phrase, we construct the visible land- 
scape before us by placing the various objects in it side by side, 
externally to each other and to ourselves — spreading them out, 
as it were, over an extended canvas, thus forming a broad men- 
tal picture. And, in like manner, we construct a page of our 
daily experience, or of history, distributing the successive events 
in it along the line of time, which reaches indefinitely into the 
distant past and future. Now, what were these objects and 
events, what were the various mental impressions, as they were 
first communicated to us by the senses, before we first projected 
them out of ourselves into the objective forms of space and 
time ? They were purely mental ; they were mere groups of 
sensations bundled together in the mind, — arranged, indeed, 
by processes of the understanding in their due relations to each 
other, but not occupying space, not outside of each other as 
partes extra partes, but existing simultaneously, like the va- 
rious notes constituting a harmony or a discord, without any 
relations to space and time, except those which we subsequently 
impose upon them. Like all psychical phenomena, when con- 
sidered purely as such, they were unspatial, and, if regarded as 
an aggregate existing at any one moment, were also untempo- 
ral. Whence, then, did we derive the canvas — the forms — 
on and in which we afterwards arranged them ? Whence came 
Space and Time thus to be the background of our picture ? 
Not from the senses, surely ; for pure Space and Time, not oc- 
cupied either by objects or events, are, to our apprehension at 
least, mere blanks ; they are nothingness. There is nothing 
in them for the senses to take hold of. They are mere subjec- 
tive forms, not borrowed from Nature, but thought into it, or 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 159 

imposed upon it, by the constitution of our minds. Yet we 
have an intuitive and ineradicable belief that they have also 
objective truth, apart from and beyond our mental apprehen- 
sion of them ; that they are not merely laws of thought, but 
also laws of things. Whence comes this irresistible conviction, 
which does not appear to be weakened, even though we think 
there is no direct evidence in its favor ? Perhaps we may ap- 
proximate an answer to this difficult question, by going back to 
a subject already briefly considered — the apparent ubiquity 
of the thinking Self to the whole nervous system. 

The doctrine of Reid and Hamilton, that we have an im- 
mediate perception of the external world, is rejected by the 
Idealists on the ground so frequently urged by them, that we 
can neveiifrget beyond the limits of our own consciousness. 
Knowledge can no more go outside of itself, they say, than a 
man can jump out of his own skin. Admitted : but is it so 
certain where the limits of consciousness are to be found ? If 
the mind is really present wherever it acts and feels, then all 
that is inside of the skin is also inside of consciousness. If the 
sphere of our spiritual activity, instead of being limited to an 
indivisible point in the brain, is coextensive with our whole 
nervous organism, then we do not need to go outside of our- 
selves in order to become immediately cognizant both of the ex- 
tension and the impenetrability of our limbs and muscles. We 
can become directly conscious of the distinction between void 
and occupied space ; that is, of the resistance which is offered 
by the several portions of our own embodiment in a material 
form. Space thus becomes not only a subjective postulate, but 
an objective revelation. It is apprehended both d priori and a 
posteriori ; it is known both as a law of thought, and as a mani- 
festation of that which is foreign to our thought — the Power 
which is not ourselves. If touched on two separate portions of 
my body, as on the shoulder and the hip, I recognize immedi- 
ately the distinction between here and there ; and the idea of 
space, hitherto undeveloped, then rises into distinct conscious- 
ness. In the effort which is needed in order to effect any mus- 
cular movement, as in lifting a weight, we become immediately 
conscious both of our own causal agency, and of the resistance 
to it which is produced by the inertia of matter. Both the 



160 DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

Ego and the non-Ego thus become directly known, each in its 
contrast with the other, and equally real with that other. 

This theory is entirely consistent with what has been alleged 
respecting the absolute unity and indivisibility of the thinking 
Self. That which is inextended can, by change of place, de- 
scribe extension, as the straight line is generated by the move- 
ment of a mathematical point. Pascal asks in his usual fervid 
manner, "Think you it is impossible that God should be in- 
finite, and yet without parts ? But I will show you a thing 
which is both infinite and indivisible : it is a point moving in 
all directions with an infinite swiftness ; for it is in all places, 
and it is all in each place." The Materialists themselves, at 
the present day, are far from limiting the action of mind to a 
single indivisible point in the brain. They do not even confine 
it, as Descartes did, to a small portion of the brain — that is, to 
the pineal gland. But they diffuse it through the gray matter 
which covers the cerebral hemispheres — that is, through the 
cortical layer which forms the whole upper surface of the brain. 
Dr. Maudsley, as we have seen, thus distributes it among the 
six hundred millions of nerve-cells which constitute this layer, 
each particular cell, according to him, being the centre of its 
own particular idea. Why not carry the distribution a little 
farther, especially as the gray nervous matter in question is 
found not only covering the cerebral hemispheres, but all along 
the spinal cord, and in all the ganglia or lower nervous centres 
with which nearly the whole nervous system is studded ? With 
these facts before us, I say it is as unscientific to limit the 
sphere of the mind's direct activity to the brain, as it was on 
the part of the old physiologists to make the heart the special 
seat of courage and magnanimity, and to place compassion in 
the bowels, and melancholy (black bile) in the liver. In fact, 
the whole theory is as vulgar as it is unphilosophical. 

For we must remember that the mind even of the young 
child, as yet uninformed by science, and knowing nothing about 
the brain or the nervous system, is able distinctly and accu- 
rately to locate its sensations wherever they belong in the dif- 
ferent portions of its body. It comes crying to its mother with 
the complaint that it has " got a pain " in its toe, or its finger, 
or its back, — that it has the stomach-ache, or the ear-ache, or 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 161 

the head-ache. Since the pain, as a sensation, can be felt only 
by the mind, if the mind is located only in the brain, if it is 
strictly imprisoned in its presence-chamber there, who informed 
it of the distinct localities whence these painful feelings in its 
extremities proceed ? The physiologist is ready with his an- 
swer, such as it is. He says that the nerve-fibres, thin threads 
of nervous matter, run from the brain and the spinal cord to 
every portion of the body, and that each one of them, like a 
telegraph-wire, brings to the mind in the cerebral hemispheres 
its separate report of what is going on at its peripheral extrem- 
ity. But I maintain that this answer is wholly insufficient, 
since it leaves the difficulty to be solved just as great as ever. 
It is true that hundreds, if not thousands, of these nerve-fibres 
terminate at their upper ends in the brain. But how comes 
the mind of the three-year-old child, which has never left its 
prison-house in the skull, to be able instantly to select the right 
fibre out of the whole large bunch of them, and to say this one 
comes from the toe, that from the finger, that from the ear, 
that from the stomach, and so on ? You know that when a 
new servant is first introduced into the kitchen of a large house, 
she needs to begin the training for her duties by becoming 
acquainted with the several bells which are hung there. She 
needs to learn, either by tracing out each bell-wire through its 
whole length, or by being informed by some one who has so 
traced them, that this one comes from the parlor, that from 
the dining-room, that from the front-door, etc. How does the 
young child's mind, if it never leaves its presence-chamber in 
the brain, come to " know the bells ? " Yon Hartmann points 
out a corresponding difficulty in the case of the motor nerves, 
through which we control the action of every joint and muscle 
in the body. Surrounded with an indefinite number of the 
upper ends of such nerves in the brain, how does the mind 
know which particular one to pull in order to crook the fore- 
finger, which one will lift the foot, which one will bend the 
knee ? In such case, we know the mind never hesitates, wa- 
vers, or mistakes. Instantly it pulls the right bell ; instantly 
it refers the telegram to the right city or town whence it came. 
I say, the only conceivable manner of accounting for these 
11 



162 DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 

marvellous facts is the omnipresence of the thinking Self, one 
and indivisible as it is, to the whole nervous organism. 

One class of Materialists, however, attempt to explain away 
this ubiquity of the mind to the body which it inhabits, by 
denying the indivisibility of that mind, — that is, by rejecting 
the unity of consciousness. They admit the presence and 
governing action of mind in the ganglia or lower nervous cen- 
tres, but assert that it is a different mind from that which is 
dominant in the brain, though communication is kept up be- 
tween them, and their action is thus rendered harmonious, by 
the connecting nervous fibres. Every body, like a bee-hive, is 
thus tenanted by a sort of republic of distinct though coop- 
erating souls. The undivided worm or ant, they say, has ap- 
parently but one consciousness ; but when cut apart, it has two, 
since each moiety continues to live and to exercise its ordi- 
nary functions. Curiously enough, when an Australian ant is 
thus cut in two, the severed portions immediately declare war 
on each other and engage in a fierce conflict, the upper half 
fighting with its mandibles and the lower one with its sting. 
We have the corresponding fact, it is urged, in the case even 
of the mammalia, whenever one of them propagates its kind ; 
since what was apparently one consciousness before birth be- 
comes two distinct consciousnesses after the physical connec- 
tion between parent and offspring is severed. It is further 
alleged, that if the severed halves of two different polyps, each 
of which had a consciousness of its own, are brought together, 
they will unite and form but one animal and one conscious- 
ness. 

But it is an unproved and improbable hypothesis, that the 
ant, polyp, or offspring still in gremio matris, has any conscious- 
ness at all. Those created things which are low down in the 
scale of being, whether vegetable or animal, exemplify what 
Professor Owen calls " the law of vegetative or irrelative repe- 
tition," as they have many organs performing the same func- 
tion, and not united with each other for the performance of a 
higher function. A number of similar parts being repeated in 
each segment of the organism, the body can be divided, and 
the severed portions, eacli containing some of the organs essen- 
tial to the whole, will continue to live separately, and even to 



DUALISM, MATERIALISM, OR IDEALISM. 163 

grow and develop other organs convenient for their indepen- 
dent life. In the Polypiaria, we find many compound plant-like 
animals aggregated together on a single calcareous axis or base. 
In the cases now in question, the section made by the knife did 
not cut one soul or animating principle into two, but only 
severed one corporeal integument which previously held to- 
gether several distinct lives, which were really independent of 
each other before their division, each deriving its nutriment 
perhaps from that portion of the integument with which it was 
in immediate contact. So a single hive of bees may be sepa- 
rated by the swarming process into several distinct communi- 
ties, each provided with its own queen and principle of unity. 
So what we call the single plant may be severed into as many 
plants as it has distinct buds or germs ; but not into more than 
there are buds. A shred may be taken, either of plant or polyp, 
so small that it contains no germ of distinct life ; and then the 
severed fragment dies, being only an incomplete and discarded 
portion of the organism. Science can never discover the par- 
ticular time, whether before or after birth, when the sentient 
principle is first infused into the immature offspring. But so 
far as physiology is competent to observe the change, all life, 
even the human, is propagated by what may be called a proc- 
ess of fissiparous generation. The old physiological axiom 
still holds true, omne vivum ex ovo ; only the ovum is detached 
sometimes in an early and immature, sometimes in a later and 
ripened, stage. The young opossum is first severed when as 
yet it seems to be little more than a small lump of protoplasm ; 
the young of one of the higher animals remains in the womb 
till it is comparatively mature. The precise moment when 
distinct sentient and conscious life begins is one of the many 
mysteries before which Materialism throws down its microscope 
in despair. 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

FROM THE PRINCETON REVIEW FOR MAT, 1879. 

The philosophy of Descartes has at least one great defect, 
that it does not explicate and bring out into distinct conscious- 
ness the idea of Cause. By making the essence of Matter to 
consist in passive and inert extension, and the essence of Mind 
in thought, which is supposed to have no capacity of going out 
beyond itself, so that it can act only within its own limited 
sphere, his theory leaves the outer world of activity and change 
in which we live without any explanation, except through the 
incessant action of its Creator. Some of his immediate fol- 
lowers and successors, among whom were Spinoza, Male- 
branche, and Leibnitz, partially remedied this defect. Yet 
neither of them completely removed it, because they did not 
grasp the whole significance of the word, or distinguish the 
various meanings and applications of which it is susceptible. 
Let us attempt to supply, at least in part, this deficiency ; for 
among all the metaphysical " elements of knowledge," I know 
of none which is more essential to clearness of thought, more 
varied in its meaning and application, or more determinative, 
so to speak, of the whole character of our philosophy. Tell 
me what you know or believe about Causation, about the origin 
and nature of the idea, and its relations to Matter and Mind, 
and I will tell you whether you are Idealist or Materialist, 
Positivist or Transcendentalist, Fatalist or a believer in Free 
Will, Theist or Atheist. 

As the first, and perhaps the most important, step towards 
a full exposition of the subject, we must go back to Aristotle, 
whose acute and comprehensive intellect supplied so many of 
the distinctions, and so large a portion of the terminology, of 
both ancient and modern philosophy. He pointed out four 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 165 

distinct meanings of the word, or four different sorts of Causes, 
upon which the mind inevitably stumbles when it tries to as- 
certain the origin and nature of any phenomenon. These may 
be passed over here very briefly, as they have recently been 
discussed by President McCosh. 

The word Cause was originally used in a very wide sense, 
corresponding to the Latin causa, Italian cosa, French chose ; 
it meant the thing — more definitely in German, Ursache, the 
'primitive thing — which is transacted, spoken, or contended 
about. The Greek term ama merely adds that it is the thing 
which we accuse or assign as the origin of the phenomenon in 
question. Aristotle distinguished four kinds of such " prim- 
itive things " or Causes, which account for the existence of 
what we are inquiring about. The Material Cause is the 
original matter (German, Urstoff, primitive stuff) out of which 
a thing is made ; the Formal Cause is the peculiar texture or 
internal constitution (forma informans, the essence) which 
makes any particular substance what it is, or gives to it its 
distinctive character ; the Efficient Cause corresponds to our 
modern use of the word, as it signifies the maker or author of 
a thing, that which really produces it ; while the Final Cause 
is the end or purpose, the intention, for which it was made. 
Thus, the Material Cause of the paper on which I am now 
writing is the pulp of rags out of which it was made ; its For- 
mal Cause is the peculiar texture given to it, which entitles it 
to be called paper, rather than linen or papier mache, which 
might be formed out of the same material ; its Efficient Cause 
is the paper-maker ; and its Final Cause is to be written upon. 

To understand the first two of these designations we must 
go back to the old Aristotelic distinction between the Matter, 
f) vkrj, and the Form, t6 eT8os. The primitive Matter or sub- 
stance from which all things were constituted, because chaotic, 
homogeneous, and wholly indeterminate, is not regarded by 
Aristotle as actual, but only as potential, being. Because it 
is everything in general, it is as yet nothing in particular. It 
first becomes actual when it receives a definite " Substantial 
Form," to tl fjv eu/cu, by virtue of which it becomes a distinc- 
tive or peculiar substance, of which this Form is the essence. 
Then first it acquires its special properties or attributes, which 



166 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

are the manifestation of its essence. Thus, it is of the essence 
of iron to be metallic, magnetic, malleable, etc. So, also, 
sound is the Matter of speech, articulation is its Form. Pro- 
toplasm is the Matter from which the living organism is con- 
stituted ; the cell or cellule, and the distinctive tissues evolved 
from it, is its Form. We thus come to a distinction which is 
vital in the Kantian philosophy. Intuitions or Percepts are 
the Matter of Knowledge, which the Forms of space, time, 
unity, cause, etc., first render thinkable or conceivable by the 
understanding. What the Germans call der Inhalt, the Con- 
tent or Matter of the cognition, is first 'thought, when it re- 
ceives its logical Form. Hegel conceives the Essence (here 
synonymous with Form) as that internal constitution of things 
of which their outward qualities are only the manifestation. 
Hence, when we propose to study the Essence, we regard the 
outward visible being, of which the senses directly take cog- 
nizance, as only the rind or veil behind which the Essence is 
concealed. Hence, again, all things have a sort of double be- 
ing in thought, of which the outer one is merely apparent or 
inessential, while the inner one, the real being or Essence, is 
discerned only by reason. 

The next pair of epithets applied to the word Cause, Im- 
manent and Transeunt, which frequently recur in the writings 
of Spinoza and other pantheists, originated with the School- 
men and logicians of the Middle Ages. The former, Imma- 
nent (from the Latin in and maneo, inbiding or indwelling), is 
conceived as in action only on and within the substance in 
which it exists, but as operating there continuously ; while a 
Transeunt Cause is a living and conscious energy, going forth 
beyond that in which it inheres, and thus acting on other things 
ah extra, from without, though efficient only at intervals, on 
specific occasions. Thus, reflection, desire, attention, and grief 
are immanent properties of mind, affecting or determining the 
current of thought certainly, but producing no effect outside 
the consciousness of the thinking person; whereas the will, 
when brought into exercise as a distinct volition, goes out be- 
yond the mind to the body, and moves the arms, opens the 
eyes, or shuts the fingers. Cohesion is an immanent property 
of a lump of matter, merely binding its particles together ; 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 167 

while the magnetic or electric force seems to transcend the 
limits of the substance wherein it is manifested, and to pro- 
duce motion or change in what is external. We can now 
understand what Spinoza meant when he taught that " God is 
the Immanent, but not Transeunt, Cause of all things." 

The distinction between these two is obviously the same 
with that pointed out by Aristotle between Formal and Effi- 
cient Cause. A Formal Cause is always Immanent ; an Effi- 
cient Cause is always Transeunt. In the ordinary meaning of 
the word, the former is no Cause at all, since it does not pro- 
duce any outer action or change at a particular time ; but man- 
ifests only the permanent relation of the essence of a thing to 
its attributes. On the contrary, an Efficient Cause, properly 
defined by Aristotle as that, o6ev rj dpxrj tyjs /aircrews, which is the 
origin of movement, produces at a given moment a physical 
change in the outer world. Science teaches us, that all phys- 
ical change is resolvable, in the last analysis, into the begin- 
ning or the cessation of molar or molecular motion, which re- 
quires space. Hence the German word to express the origin of 
any phenomenon is Ursprung, the primitive spring or move- 
ment. The Principle of Causality is, that every physical 
change — that is, every event in the material universe, every 
origination or cessation of motion — must have a cause. Hence 
the Principle is not applicable to objects that exist, if consid- 
ered merely as existing, and not as changing ; and much con- 
fusion and unsound reasoning have arisen from the attempt to 
extend it to them. I cannot infer, merely from the present ex- 
istence of a stone or an animal, that it must have had a Cause ; 
for all I know, it may have existed forever. But if we know 
that at some definite epoch it began to exist, then we say with 
absolute certainty, that that beginning of its existence, as an 
event, must have been produced by something foreign to it- 
self ; or, more loosely speaking, that the event must have had 
a Cause. 

Hence, that primordial condition of the material universe, 
in which the evolutionist beholds " the promise and the po 
tency " of all subsequent change and life, — whether it be, ac- 
cording to Democritus and Lucretius, an indefinite multitude 
of disconnected and homogeneous atoms, or, according to the 



168 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

modern nebular hypothesis, a primitive fiery mist, — if not sub- 
jected to the action of an Efficient and Transeunt Cause exte- 
rior to itself, must have remained forever dead, motionless, and 
unchangeable. According to the hypothesis, the only Cause 
present to it must have been a Formal and Immanent — that 
is, an inherent or intrinsic — Cause : and the only result of 
such causation, as we have seen, is permanency of state, the 
eternal and changeless manifestation of the same attributes. 
It is not enough to say, what physical science has at last satis- 
factorily demonstrated, that there is no spontaneous generation 
of life ; but we must add, what science long ago affirmed, that 
there is no such thing as the spontaneous generation of motion. 
As long as the universe was without form or definite structure, 
and also without an Efficient Cause, any change of its state was 
impossible. Before " the Spirit of God moved upon the face 
of the waters," no winds agitated the surface of the " dark 
illimitable ocean," no tides heaved its mass, no waves broke 
upon its silent shores. 

Again, as the Principle of Efficient Cause concerns only the 
origination of movement or physical change, which requires 
space, it is not applicable to the phenomena of pure intellect, 
which are unspatial. Putting aside the sensations and feelings 
which are of a mixed character, as they arise from the connec- 
tion of the mind with the body, it is evident that the succes- 
sion of what may be called pure states of consciousness is regu- 
lated by inherent and spontaneous laws of thought and the 
association of ideas, and that these laws are wholly indepen- 
dent of physical causation. We have now passed into a new 
world, the contradictory opposite of the world of matter, since 
the two have not a single feature in common. I cannot prop- 
erly ask for the causes, but only for the reasons, of my desires, 
my course of thought, my thick-coming fancies, my convic- 
tions, my volitions. In revery and dreaming, in all conscious 
meditation that is not regulated or checked by the action of 
the senses — and such evidently constitutes the larger portion 
of our intellectual life — the river of thought windeth at its 
own sweet will. Passively I may wait and watch its ceaseless 
flow, or I may actively interfere and hem its current,' or deflect 
it into a different channel. But the Reasons for such interfer- 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 169 

ence, or for any other volition, are not causative in their nat- 
ure ; that is, they do not necessarily determine what particular 
Consequent shall follow, or even if there shall be any Conse- 
quent whatsoever. A variety of Reasons may be simultaneously 
present in consciousness, like so many suitors in court, each 
soliciting a verdict in his own favor to the exclusion of the 
others, because each has his own interests to subserve. The 
autocratic Will sits as supreme judge in that court, and is 
always more or less arbitrary in its decision. Generally, it is 
willing to hear argument, that is, to listen to the Reasons, and 
estimate their comparative weight and relevancy ; though, like 
too many other judges, it is often wrong-headed and decides 
for the weaker party, even when conscious that the preponder- 
ance of reasoning and testimony is on the other side. Such 
is often the case when duty is pleading against temptation, 
though the culprit judge is fully aware, that if conscience had 
might, as it has right, it would govern the world. Common 
people often say of a judge thus acting, not that he is neces- 
sarily corrupt, but that he is blind and wilful, thus emphasiz- 
ing that free and arbitrary character of the human will which 
is here in question. 

As the strongest reason often cannot command volition, it 
frequently fails to produce assent. The relation between argu- 
ment and volition, between the inferences of the understand- 
ing and the determination of belief, is far from being compul- 
sory or certain. As Dr. Newman remarks, " Sometimes assent 
fails, while the reasons for it, and the inferential act which is 
the recognition of those reasons, are still present and in force. 
Our reasons may seem to us as strong as ever, yet they do not 
secure our assent." Hence, in sound logic, the ratio cognos- 
cendi is clearly distinguished from the causa fiendi (i. e., the 
Efficient and Transeunt Cause), though the two are arbitrarily 
confounded b}^ Leibnitz in his Principle of the Sufficient Rea- 
son. The causa fiendi, as we have seen, is that which makes 
the event happen, and therefore never fails to be an Efficient 
Cause, though it may not be sufficient to produce the whole 
end in view ; for it may be overridden by a more potent cause 
of the same nature. But as we are here in the kingdom of 
physical or mechanical necessity, the weaker cause in such a 



170 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

case is merely overridden, but not extinguished, by its more 
powerful competitor ; for the efficiency of the two is there 
compounded, as in the parallelogram of forces, and the result- 
ant effect is unlike what it would haye been if either had acted 
separately. But when different reasons, or motives, as they 
are commonly called, are competing for our assent or volition, 
though they may be almost equally balanced at the outset, so 
that choice between them may be long delayed in order to 
have time for consideration, yet when the decision is at last 
rendered, the conquered motive is extinguished or absolutely 
put aside, and the resultant action is precisely what it would 
have been if its motive had been the only one present to con- 
sciousness from the beginning. This fact alone, it seems to 
me, is demonstrative of the freedom of the will ; and when 
united, as it always is, with the sense of responsibility for our 
conduct, the philosophical question is settled forever without 
appeal. 

In truth, the word ought would cease to have any intelli- 
gible meaning, if my will were as necessarily determined by 
motives as a ship's course at sea is by the winds, so that con- 
science could no more reproach me than the ship for sailing in 
the wrong direction. The mind of an insane person has lost 
its rudder ; he is necessitated ; he cannot steer his course aright. 
Hence, though he becomes a homicide, we do not punish or 
even blame him ; we only shut him up, so that he may do 
no farther harm. Mill, Huxley, and Spencer would have us 
believe that all the world are mad, and therefore that the tribu- 
nal which sends a convicted assassin to the gallows really com- 
mits murder. They virtually preach the innocency of wrong- 
doing, thereby rejecting the testimony both of conscience and 
consciousness, and bringing the highest interests of humanity 
into peril. Could they convince the ignorant multitude of the 
truth of their theory, this world would become a hell. But 
the unsophisticated common-sense of mankind rejects the 
dogma with disgust. 

In order to defend and illustrate his doctrine of " continu- 
ous creation," which is only the theory of " immediate divine 
agency " carried out to its furthest logical consequences, Des- 
cartes revived the Scholastic distinction between a Cause 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 171 

secundum esse and a Cause secundum fieri. An effect pro- 
duced by the former of these holds good only so long as the 
cause continues to operate, but vanishes as soon as this ceases 
to act, for the effect has in itself no independent principle of 
being. Cessante causa, cessat ipse effectus. Such is the rela- 
tion of light to the sun, and of the circulation of the blood to 
the beating of the heart. It is in this way, according to Des- 
cartes, that the universe, including even man himself, depends 
upon God ; for this alone can properly be called creation. On 
the other hand, a causa secundum fieri expresses only the re- 
lation of the human artificer to the product of his labor, which 
he merely fashions, but does not create. An architect is 
needed to build the house, and a sculptor to shape the statue ; 
but this task once completed, the workman may depart, and 
his work will remain. 

Evidently, this distinction was first applied through a jeal- 
ous concern for the theological dogma of the dependence of all 
things upon God. But the argument has a double edge, for 
the excellence of the work may seem to be impeached by 
maintaining that it cannot be made durable except through 
the constant care and aid of its author. Also, the doctrine 
comes perilously near to Spinozism. A Cause secundum esse 
seems at first to differ but little from the Formal and Imma- 
nent Cause of the pantheist, and continuous creation to be 
only another name for emanation. Yet the distinction be- 
tween the two is really wide and important. In the Cartesian 
theory, the Deity is still outside of his work, operating upon it 
ah extra, and therefore continuously manifested as an Efficient 
Cause, and not merely as Immanent. Spinoza held that God, 
as the ultimate ground of all things, is the eternal, infinite, in- 
cessantly active physical Force, from which all being necessa- 
rily proceeds, just as from the very nature of a triangle it fol- 
lows to all eternity that its three angles must be equal to two 
right angles. On this theory, indeed, all things do not prop- 
erly emanate from God, but are rather immanent in Him. All 
physical objects and events are contained in His infinite exten- 
sion, just as all thoughts and souls (for the Spinozan soul is 
only a succession of thoughts) are merely expressions- or mani- 
festations of His infinite and absolute thought. The Scholastic 



172 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

and Cartesian doctrine of a Cause secundum esse and a contin- 
uous creation was probably suggested by the orthodox doctrine 
of the Trinity, according to which there is but one divine sub- 
stance in the Godhead, and this one is manifested from all 
eternity in three equal and coeternal Persons. It is really an 
effort to conceive the inconceivable, by indicating typically 
what theologians call the eternal generation of the Son, and 
the eternal procession of the Holy Ghost from the Father and 
the Son, neither ever beginning to be, but both being constant 
and eternal manifestations of one God. Philosophy under 
Descartes thought to emancipate itself altogether from the in- 
fluence of the Scholastic theology. But it did not entirely 
succeed in doing so; for it was long ago remarked, that it is 
not as easy to get rid of all one's beliefs as it is to burn one's 
house down. But there is a foundation of truth in the Carte- 
sian doctrine, which commends itself as much to the heart as 
to the head of the Christian thinker. Descartes rightly repre- 
sents creation, not as one act begun and ended at a definite 
time, but as a continuous putting forth of energy, a constant 
manifestation of divine power, so that, if it should cease for a 
moment, the universe would instantly lapse into the nothing- 
ness whence it was drawn. All things are, so to speak, re- 
created at every instant ; for to suppose that anything could, 
of itself, continue in being after it was once created, would be 
to deny its finite and limited nature, and to render it for the 
time independent of its Creator. Compare this loft} 7 " and in- 
spiring conception of the universe with the dreary mechanical 
theory of the infidel A to mist, who believes in a mud universe, 
built up and sustained solely by the forces immanent and in- 
herent in that mud, self-shaped and self-evolved through an 
endless evolution of living forms, from the animalcule up to 
man, without any external power or agency whatsoever. For 
this is the upshot of the theory, try to sublimate it as you may. 
The atoms of Leucippus and Democritus, or the " primitive 
fiery mist " of the modern evolutionist, homogeneous and 
structureless throughout, are nothing but the primary constitu- 
ents of mud ; and those who behold in them " the promise 
and the potency of every form of life " are really idolaters 
bowing down before a Mud-Fetish. 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 173 

The theory of immediate divine agency, as taught by Male- 
branche, involves the consideration of what are called Occa- 
sional Causes. These are only the uniformly attendant circum- 
stances, which indicate the occasion or time when a particular 
event may be expected to happen, though not exerting any 
causative influence upon it whatsoever. In many instances, 
what is called the Occasional Cause is merely a concomitant 
effect of the same power or agency which really produces the 
event in question. Thus, the falling of the mercury in my 
thermometer below thirty-two degrees is the occasion which 
leads me to expect the freezing of water, though the ther- 
mometer certainly does not act upon the water, but is itself 
acted upon by the same power or force which produces the 
congelation. In other cases, the two phenomena may occur in 
immediate succession, though produced by agencies entirely 
independent of each other, the only connection between them 
being simultaneity of operation. In either case, the Occasional 
Cause is only a ratio cognoscendi, which leads me to expect 
what will soon happen from an independent and probably un- 
known cause. 

In like manner, what is sometimes called an Instrumental 
Cause is, properly speaking, no Cause at all, as it is entirely 
passive, the action transmitted through it originating in some 
force or agency lying farther back. Thus, the force or active 
agency by which a stone is moved does not reside in the stick, 
or even in the hand, which pushes it, but in the conscious and 
intelligent Mind or Will, which thrusts the hand or stick with 
a preconceived and definite purpose and a conscious effort. 
The instrument through which the causal agency is trans- 
mitted may be one, or many. There may be a chain or series 
of intervening links between the primary application of effi- 
cient force, and the observed result of motion or change at the 
other end of the line. But each of these links is passive, 
because incapable of originating change either in itself or in 
that which follows. It merely transmits mechanically the ini- 
tial impulse. 

Lastly, we have the conception of Physical Cause or Law, 
which has become so prominent in the science of our own. day. 
Here, by the admission of the physicists themselves, the rela- 



174 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

tion contemplated is not that of Cause and Effect, but of An- 
tecedent and Consequent. If the sequence, so far as observed, 
has been invariable, so that we look with perfect confidence 
for the subsequent phenomena to follow, then the invariable 
antecedent is called a Physical Cause, and the uniform con- 
junction of the two phenomena in time is styled a Law of 
Nature. Thus, friction is always followed by the evolution of 
heat, and if two drops of water or mercury are brought near 
each other, they invariably rush into one. Then friction is said 
to be a Physical Cause of heat, fire of the melting of wax, etc. ; 
and it is said to be a Law that the two phenomena should be 
thus conjoined. But no actual nexus, no real union of the two 
events, apart from this simultaneity of their occurrence, ever 
has been, or ever will be, discovered. No exertion of force or 
power can be detected by the senses ; we can observe nothing 
but the external phenomenon, the thing done, but never the 
power which does it. It was long ago remarked by Kant, that 
the senses can give us only a succession of isolated phenomena ; 
and that any synthesis of them, any grouping of them together 
by a real or fancied bond of connection, must be thought out 
by the imagination or the understanding. Sense presents the 
separate beads of perception in a series, only one at a time ; 
thought strings those beads together. An invariable antece- 
dent is a sign or herald — an indispensable condition, if you will 
— of the phenomena which it precedes. So atmospheric air is 
an indispensable condition of human life, and space is an indis- 
pensable condition of motion. But no one imagines that the 
space generates the motion, or that air creates life. A constant 
antecedent, as that which leads the mind to expect a certain 
event, may be regarded as a causa cognoscendi, or as an Occa- 
sional Cause ; but it certainly is not the causa fiendi, or that 
which makes the event happen, whether we expect it or not. 

A Law of Nature is only a general fact, or a statement com- 
prising under it many individual facts. Then the statement of 
such a Law does not account for or explain the phenomena 
included under it ; it only describes them. The process of 
thought by which we pass from a Physical Law to an individ- 
ual case happening under it is one of deduction, or logical infer- 
ence. Because uniform experience has shown that all bodies 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 175 

tend to fall towards the common centre of gravity, therefore 
this body thus tends to fall. The statement of the law, there- 
fore, is that which makes us expect that the individual event 
will happen ; and this, by a very natural confusion of thought, 
is often mistaken for the Cause which makes the event happen. 
But the relation in the former case is that between premises 
and conclusion ; in the latter, between Cause and Effect. The 
former is a law of thought, the latter is a law of things. 

The fallacy here exposed is one of much interest, as it lies 
at the bottom of every scheme of Materialism — of every at- 
tempt to account for the phenomena of the universe without 
bringing in any other agency than that of mere Physical Laws, 
or what it was once the fashion to call " Second Causes." Such 
a theory is not only insufficient, or not supported by the requi- 
site evidence ; it is founded upon a mere confusion of thought, 
and is illogical and absurd. There is no such thing as the 
agency or action of a Law ; except as a figure of speech, we 
might as well predicate locomotion of an idea, or speak of bilat- 
eral triangles. " Second Causes " are no causes at all, and 
exist only in thought. A Cause, in the proper sense of the 
word, that is, an Efficient Cause, as original and direct in its 
action, must be a First Cause ; that through which its action is 
transmitted is not a Cause, but a portion of the Effect, since it 
does not act, but it is only acted upon. At most, it is only the 
Instrumental Cause. It is only the helve of the hatchet, with 
which he who was the actual Cause of the murder really struck 
the fatal blow. 

Among the dozen different meanings of the word " Cause " 
which have now been mentioned and distinguished from each 
other, it is perfectly obvious, I think, that only one, variously 
denominated the Efficient or the Transeunt Cause, fully ex- 
presses the idea, and deserves the name ; and that this idea, 
also, is the popular or vulgar notion, the ordinary significance 
of a very common word. Common people, — men, women, and 
children, — guided only by common-sense and the ordinary 
use of language, and not perverted by metaphysical or scien- 
tific theories, never attach any other meaning to the word, and 
find no difficulty in understanding it. The word, in this its 
distinctive meaning, exists in every language under the sun. 



176 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

Savages, as well as civilized men, speak as familiarly of the 
" Cause " of any event, as they do of the " Time " when it hap- 
pened ; though the significance which they attach to either of 
these words cannot have been derived from the senses, but 
must have originated from consciousness of what is constantly 
passing in their minds. Hence, the knowledge of Efficient 
Cause strictly so-called precedes speculative inquiry, and is an- 
terior to all science and philosophy; for language is the expres- 
sion and record of the primitive observation and unprejudiced 
common-sense of mankind. Common people everywhere under- 
stand a " Cause " to be that which, of itself, or self-determined, 
produces any change in the external world, and without which 
any such change would be impossible. " Of itself, or self-de- 
termined," I say ; for they always mean that which we now 
usually term a First Cause ; that is, not one which is itself an 
effect of a preceding cause, but one which is primal and self-de- 
termined in its action — not merely producing the event, but ar- 
bitrarily or freely determining the particular time and particular 
place of its occurrence. They mean just what you and I mean 
when we say, for instance, that Wilkes Booth was the First 
and only Cause of the death of President Lincoln. The bullet 
and the pistol were merely his instruments or Second Causes, 
and therefore incapable of self-determination for use in this 
particular act at this particular time and place. We hold that 
Booth was the First, as well as the Efficient, Cause of the as- 
sassination, because we regard him as exclusively responsible 
for it, as he certainly would not be if he had been an uncon- 
scious and involuntary implement in the hands of another; 
that is, if he had been an automaton, or merely a Physical 
Cause. 

This popular idea of Causation strictly accords with its phil- 
osophical or metaphysical meaning. It is what the physicist, 
even what the sceptic and the Positivist, have in mind when 
they assert, as they now do unanimously, that we can find no 
reality corresponding to it in the outward universe ; that it is 
not, and cannot be, cognizable by the senses ; and therefore 
that it is not a proper subject for physical investigation. 
Every change, every phenomenon which begins to exist at a def- 
inite time and place, must have an Efficient Cause ; we can no 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 177 

more deny this proposition than we can doubt the existence 
and unbroken continuity of pure Space and Time, though 
neither can be witnessed by the senses. But the nicest obser- 
vation, the most refined analysis, nowhere discovers such a 
Cause in the external world. It can find there, at the utmost, 
nothing but invariable antecedence, a relation which differs 
from that of Cause and Effect as widely as the idea of person 
does from that of material substance. The result may be a 
humiliating one for the pride of human knowledge ; but there 
is no doubt of its correctness. While all admit that a Cause 
is necessary for any physical change whatsoever, the Cause of 
any one such change has never been found in the material uni- 
verse. 

Efficient Causation is conceivable only as an exertion of 
force, and therefore must be regarded as Transeunt ; that is, 
as operative on other things ab extra, and thereby producing 
change externally and beyond itself. And here is the chief 
reason why such causation is not only un discoverable in the 
physical universe, but is even unthinkable as a property of any 
material substance. How can one body act on another, which 
is at a greater or less distance from it, without getting outside 
of itself ? Certainly the senses cannot perceive any power or 
force emanating from the one and passing to the other, so as 
to form a bridge between them ; and without such connection, 
their mutual action and reaction are inconceivable. How 
can the sun act on the earth which is over ninety millions of 
miles off? Or how can one particle of matter act on another 
particle without getting outside of itself, though the distance 
between them be made as small as possible ? For even if the 
two particles are brought in contact, the one is still outside of 
the other and distinct from it ; so that we still have the inex- 
plicable phenomenon of actio in distans. This is the insolu- 
ble problem which is perpetually recurrent in metaphysics, be- 
sides influencing largely most of the theoretical physical sci- 
ence of our own day. When I throw a stone into the air, what 
is that which is communicated to it, by virtue of which it con- 
tinues to fly after it has left the hand, in spite of the retarding 
action of gravity which soon brings it again to rest ? Does 
the muscular force of my body extend for a considerable dis- 

12 



178 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

tance outside of that body, and thus sustain the stone in its 
flight ? Motion is certainly communicated to the stone ; but 
that is the effect produced, and not the cause. For what sus- 
tains the motion ? 

Leibnitz seems to have had the clearest conviction of the 
nature of this problem, and his mode of solving it is certainly 
an original one. He maintains that no one substance ever does 
act on another, but that each moves or rests independently, 
through the influence of its own immanent or inherent force, 
though it acts concurrently and in unison with every other 
Monad, in virtue of the harmony which was pre established 
between them from the beginning. The successive develop- 
ment of its own inherent properties goes on as prearranged, 
in strict conformity with physical law, as if it was constantly 
acted upon by every other Monad ; though it would continue 
to act in precisely the same manner, even if it were absolutely 
alone in the universe. 

This analysis of the different meanings of the word has pre- 
pared the way for an exposition of the only intelligible and 
self-consistent theory of Causation strictly so-called. An Ef- 
ficient Cause is a definite exertion of power or force, an effort, 
which is determinate not only in time and place, but in the 
direction or object to which it tends. Hence, just as much as 
Final Cause, it is always an act of mind, a primary and self- 
determining exertion of arbitrary Will, which can be immedi- 
ately known only through consciousness. In truth, these two 
sorts of Cause always go together. There is no such thing as 
Will in general, apart from particular volitions. If I will at 
all, I must will something in particular — as to take this step 
towards the door, to lift this weight or push it aside, to read 
this book. In other words, the volition must always have a 
purpose or end in view — that is, a motive or Final Cause, 
finis ad quern. The fatalist surely will not object to this the- 
ory, for it is the foundation on which he erects his sole argu- 
ment. And this purpose or Final Cause certainly cannot be 
directly known except through consciousness ; for it is not a 
phenomenon of matter, but of mind. On the other hand, the 
purpose, the Final Cause, cannot be realized or made actual — 
cannot be carried out — except by a special exertion or effort, 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 179 

that is, by Efficient Causation. If the agnostic fatalist denies 
this assertion, he thereby denies that the motive determines 
the outward act, and so upsets his whole theory. In fact, it 
is of the very essence of mechanical fatalism to attribute effi- 
cient and necessary causation even to motives — that is, to 
mere states of consciousness. Experience through the senses 
can make known only the results of Causation, only the motion 
or change produced, and from these it can infer the nature of 
the agency whence they originate. All our knowledge here is 
a posteriori, or subsequent to experience. We learn only by 
trial that one substance is soluble in water, and another not — 
that iron expands and clay contracts under the application of 
heat. But in the case of mental exertion, the result to be ac- 
complished is preconsidered, foreseen, and thereby made deter- 
minate and subservient to the particular end in view. Hence 
the result is known a priori, or before experience. The voli- 
tion follows, which is a real effort, a conscious exertion of 
power, an immediate cognition of energy as such, or force in 
action ; and this, if the power be sufficient, is necessarily suc- 
ceeded by the effect. It must be always efficient, whether 
sufficient or not for the whole purpose which we intended to 
accomplish. Our real activity resides solely in the will ; and 
will, as such, is always accompanied and guided by intellect, 
and usually (not always) witnessed by consciousness. Efficient 
and Final Causation always go together; both originate in 
mind, and operate upon matter ah extra, as a foreign agency. 
Efficient Cause, without Final Cause, because wholly indeter- 
minate, is null and inconceivable ; since it can effect nothing 
in particular, it cannot effect anything whatsoever. Final Cause 
without Efficient Cause would be equally nugatory, as it would 
be a mere blank purpose, like an intention to travel to the 
moon, without any means of realization. 

All physical phenomena, that is, all phenomena subject to 
observation by the senses, are reducible to modes of motion ; 
they are nothing but changes of position among either the 
masses or the molecules of the substances in or through which 
they are manifested. Hence, as there must be room, for such 
movement, they -can only occur in space. Whether we call it 
heat, or light, or electricity, or galvanism, or chemical action, 



180 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

it is always the same thing ; it is only a displacement, a vibra- 
tion or stir, of particles. It is only by a misnomer or a meta- 
phor that we speak of physical or chemical "forces," since the 
phenomena thus designated are only various forms and modes 
of motion, which it is convenient to distinguish from each other 
by appropriate names, because each has its specific physical an- 
tecedents and attendant circumstances. Not " forces," but the 
" results " of force, are the objects of physical inquiry. Sensi- 
ble perception is wholly incompetent to establish either the 
presence or the absence of causation or force strictly so-called. 
For the sense perceives immediately only the outward phenom- 
enon — the physical change or movement ; and from this the 
physical inquirer infers, what he does not and cannot imme- 
diately perceive, the presence of some unknown cause or force 
which produces that change. On the other hand, in the exer- 
cise of volition, the conscious mind directly and immediately per- 
ceives the force exerted, i.e., the effort, and infers the phys- 
ical change to be produced by it, even when no result follows, 
that is, when there is only a tendency to move, but no actual 
change of place. As already mentioned, the conscious volition 
looks to the future, and both foresees and determines what the 
physical result shall be ; the physicist observes only the pres- 
ent result, and judges that a force has been exerted. The sev- 
eral physical " forces," so-called, are convertible and readily 
pass into each other, because they are only different kinds of 
motion ; and it is self-evident that motion can produce or prop- 
agate nothing but motion. The moving body can operate only 
by a thrust or pull, and therefore can produce only a change 
of place in the body, or portion of a body, on which it im- 
pinges or to which it is fastened. Then it is not only in- 
credible, but inconceivable, that it should generate thought, 
emotion, or will, neither of which can be expressed in terms of 
motion without evident absurdity. We might as well say that 
iron could construct a syllogism. 

Comte and J. S. Mill, because they held the doctrine here 
maintained, that Efficient Causes are " radically inaccessible " 
to perception by the senses, were bound in logical consistency 
to propose, that the phraseology of physical science should be 
reformed by refraining altogether from the use of words which 






THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 181 

imply the existence of this sort of Causation ; and Comte ex- 
pressly admitted this obligation, and therefore, in the latter 
portion of his great work, u sedulously abstains " from men- 
tioning the word " Cause." But Mr. Mill refuses to advocate 
such a change of language, though he admits that the scientific 
phraseology is " altogether vicious," " inasmuch as the ascer- 
tainment of causes," so-called, is " merely the ascertainment 
of other and more universal laws of phenomena," that is, only 
the more accurate statement of the constant relations of suc- 
cession or similarity between the objects and events which are 
the results of unknown causation. Mill continues to speak of 
physical "cause," because he does not "see what is gained by 
avoiding this particular word, when M. Comte is forced, like 
other people, to speak continually of agents, and their action, of 
forces" oi power, " and the like, — terms equally liable to per- 
version, and which are partial and inadequate expressions for 
what no word that we possess, except ' Cause,' expresses in its 
full generality." This is well stated, though the argument 
leads to a conclusion the very opposite of that which is adopted 
by Mr. Mill. The whole phraseology of " causation," includ- 
ing even these derivative and cognate terms, of action, agency, 
force, power, and law, ought to be banished from the language 
of physical science. These words are misleading, because what 
is designated by them is imperceptible by the senses, and there- 
fore is not an object of physical investigation. The accurate 
description of phenomena, together with the proper classifica- 
tion of objects and events, including the various kinds of mo- 
tion and change, and the precise determination of the constant 
physical antecedents and consequents of these events, is the 
sole function of all that is now usually called " Science." If 
the physicists, chemists, and naturalists, especially those of 
them who have Positivist or agnostic aims and tendencies, 
would be logical and consistent, they would leave all thought 
and mention of cause, energy, power, force, and law to the 
metaphysician and the psychologist, that is, to the moral sci- 
ences. 

Language inevitably reacts upon thought. Because the 
physicists have persisted in talking about causation, when, ac- 
cording to their own admission, they meant only invariable an- 



182 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

tecedence ; and of force, power, and energy, when they meant 
only the motion — either actual or foreseen, either of masses 
or molecules — which is the result of force, they have been be- 
trayed, in the expression of their doctrines, into statements 
which are inconsistent with each other, illogical, and even 
meaningless. Observe, however, that we have here no con- 
troversy with them about the facts in the case, so far as these 
are physical facts — that is, so far as they are subject to ob- 
servation by the senses, and capable of being foreseen through 
the ordinary processes of inductive logic. These they have ac- 
curately observed, measured, classified, and predicted. But 
when they attempt to dovetail these facts into systems and 
theories, to build a philosophy of nature upon them, to give us 
a new cosmogony and a new conception of man, the universe, 
and God — or rather, of man and the universe without a God 
— then they have gone beyond their proper functions, and 
their use of a phraseology which does not belong to them has 
betrayed them into countless inconsistencies and absurdities. 

Take, for instance, their statements about gravity and about 
the conservation of force. They speak of " gravity " as if it 
were a force immanent in matter and necessarily belonging to 
it, like impenetrability, and then proceed to consider it as the 
efficient agent in the construction of the universe. But this is 
a wholly erroneous conception of the case ; for any body, or 
any particle of matter, could it be completely isolated, that is, 
if it were alone in the universe, would not gravitate at all. 
Since what is true of any is certainly true of all, it follows that 
the universe as a whole, with nothing outside of it, does not 
gravitate ; and therefore gravity, is not a quality inherent in 
matter, but must be regarded philosophically as the result 
of a metaphysical force situated between different bodies, not 
in them, and as acting upon them ah extra, from the outside. 
Physicists generally have ceased to speak of the " attraction" 
of gravitation, since that word implies that gravity is a pull ; 
while nobody knows, or ever can know, whether it is a push or 
a pull. If your acquired habits compel you to think of gravity 
as a quantum of " force " necessarily inherent in a body and 
proportional to its mass, you must learn also to think of it as a 
relative force, varying with different physical antecedents, that 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 183 

is, in proportion to the nearness or remoteness, and to the 
masses, of other bodies situated outside of it ; and also as not 
acting at all — in other words, as non-existent — where there are 
no such outside bodies. A body at the surface of the earth, 
where it is about four thousand miles from the earth's centre 
of gravity, tends to move towards that centre with a certain 
momentum ; that is, if undermined, we can predict that it 
would fall with that momentum. But place the same body at 
eight thousand miles' distance from the centre, and it will so 
tend to move with only one fourth part of its former momen- 
tum. Then, on the doctrine of the conservation of force, what 
has become of three fourths of the gravitating " force " or 
" energy " originally inherent in that mass of matter ? Nearly 
twenty years ago, Faraday asked that question, and so far as I 
know, it has never received any sufficient answer. Brute mat- 
ter cannot act where it is not, for, as I have already explained, 
it cannot get outside of itself. Mr. J. J. Murphy has rightly 
called attention to the fact, that gravity is incapable of satura- 
tion ; " that is to say, whatever be the quantity of matter that 
any mass of matter is attracting, it is capable of attracting any 
additional quantity with exactly the same force as if it had no 
other to attract." Thus, the sun acts upon any one planet with 
its whole " force ; " but it thus acts with its entire energy on 
every other planet, and would do so, even if the number of its 
planets were thrice as great. Phoebus is a skilful charioteer ; 
he drives with the same force and precision, whether four 
steeds, or four hundred, are yoked to his car. 

Any one who has fully pondered these facts will surely ac- 
cept the conclusion of Sir Isaac Newton, when he says, " that 
gravity should be innate, inherent, and essential to matter, so 
that one body may act upon another at a distance through 
a vacuum, without the mediation of anything else by and 
through which their action and force may be conveyed from 
one to another, is to me so great an absurdity, that I believe 
no man who has in philosophical matters a competent faculty 
of thinking can ever fall into it. Gravity must be caused by 
an agent acting constantly according to certain laivs." In other 
words, gravity is not a " potency " of matter at all, but is pro- 
duced by Mind acting uniformly with a definite purpose. To 



184 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

the mere physicist, it is only one kind of motion, which may 
be expected to recur, and to vary, with certain physical ante- 
cedents or under certain attendant circumstances ; that is, in a 
fixed proportion to the nearness and the masses of other bodies. 
The motion alone is mensurable, depending on the relations of 
space and time ; and therefore it alone is calculable ; the cause 
of it, or the force which urges the moving body along its ap- 
pointed path, cannot be measured, for it cannot even be per- 
ceived by sense. Hence the materialist and the merely physi- 
cal cosmogonist can make no use of it in their vain attempts 
to explain the secret of the universe. 

The principle of physical science which was first styled the 
conservation of force is now more definitely called the conser- 
vation of energy ; and we are told that energy should be de- 
fined as " force in action." The change of phraseology was 
necessary, for as the mere physicist has no conception of 
" force " except as that which produces motion, there was an 
evident absurdity in speaking of any force which is not in 
action — that is, of a force which does not produce motion. 
The doctrine that the energy is measured by u the work done" 
expresses the same meaning in other words ; for the work 
done is the amount of motion produced, and motion cannot be 
produced except by " force in action." And the new state- 
ment of the principle is not a whit more defensible than the 
old one, since it obliges us to speak of " potential energy." 
But the potential, so long as it is only potential, is unreal; 
and therefore merely potential energy is no energy at all. A 
bit of pure carbon still uncrystallized is a potential diamond ; 
but no one will maintain that it is a real diamond. Then 
there is no " conservation " of the same energy ; for when the 
actual becomes merely potential, the energy or "force in action" 
becomes non-existent, is for the time destroyed. Then we 
rightly affirm, not the conservation, but the possibility of creat- 
ing anew, by a change of circumstances, an amount of energy 
equivalent to that which has been destroyed. For the con- 
version of the potential into the actual is a distinct act of crea- 
tion, since the change of circumstances, by which alone it can 
be brought about is a separate event, which can be produced 
only by a cause of its own. The potential does not change it- 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 185 

self into the actual, but needs to be acted upon anew before the 
change will take place. Thus, the potential energy of the 
mill-pond cannot be converted into the actual energy which 
turns the wheels, except by a fresh application of force in rais- 
ing the gates of the sluice. In every way, then, this statement 
of the principle in physical science is unsatisfactory, and even 
meaningless. It speaks of the conservation of something which 
is not conserved, but destroyed ; and after denning energy to 
be force in action, it speaks of potential energy — that is, of 
force in action which is not in action. 

So much for the blunders into which the physicists with 
agnostic aims and tendencies have been betrayed through not 
properly distinguishing Physical Cause, which is the mere an- 
tecedent of motion, from Efficient Cause, which, operating ab 
extra, and so not immanent in matter, really creates the mo- 
tion. Get rid of this confusion of ideas, and the unquestion- 
able facts in the case may be stated in terms to which no ex- 
ception can be taken. Do not talk about the conservation of 
force, but about the convertibility of motion. The principle 
is, that equal quantities of the two sorts of motion, molar and 
molecular, admit of being converted into each other. Also, 
after a given amount of motion has ceased, and after a shorter 
or longer interval has ensued, an equivalent amount of it may 
be reproduced through a change of circumstances, which is 
often brought about by a comparatively slight exertion of force. 
The precise limits of the convertibility into each other of the 
different kinds of molecular motion, such as heat, light, elec- 
tricity, and chemical affinity, still remain to be determined ; but 
there can be little doubt, I think, that science will ultimately 
establish, their mutual convertibility to the full extent. 

The scientific world ought to be now prepared to accept the 
doctrine of Descartes, that matter has no inherent dynamical 
properties whatsoever, but only a passive capacity of resist- 
ance ; as manifested, first, by inertia, whereby it resists a 
change of state from rest to motion ; secondly, by impenetra- 
bility, whereby it resists being extruded from the occupancy 
of space, and thus becomes capable of being acted upon and 
of transmitting such action to other matter ; and thirdly, of 
cohesion and hardness, whereby it resists the disintegrating 



186 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

action of a saw or a hammer. Neither of these forms of pas- 
sive resistance admits of being converted into active energy or 
force, since neither of them can originate motion. 

We have next to inquire whether dynamic energy, though 
not to be found in the inorganic world, that is, in the constit- 
uent particles of matter as such, may not be first developed in 
the various structures and machines which are artistically built 
up from those particles ; that is to say, may it not first appear 
in the organic world ? Of course, these living organisms act 
spontaneously ; but such action we attribute to a proper effi- 
cient cause — that is, to a definite will and intellect operating 
upon the structure ah extra, and therefore never manifested 
except when there is life within the organism. This is only 
making the distinction, with which we are all familiar, be- 
tween a machine of man's device and the motive-power by 
which it is driven. No machine can be invented which will 
run of itself ; some extraneous force, that of steam, or air, or the 
muscular strength of men or horses, must be introduced into it 
and periodically renewed, or the action will stop. If the watch 
be not wound up, it will not go. But while every machine 
constructed by man certainly has this great defect, the question 
with which we are now concerned is, whether one of nature's 
machines, a living organism, may not be so curiously con- 
structed that it will run of itself, mechanically, without the aid 
of any distinct principle of mind or life. In other words, are all 
living organisms, from the animalcule up to man, mere autom- 
ata ? Can we solve the problem of perpetual motion, or has 
" nature " solved it ? With the mere particles of brute mat- 
ter, which, as we have now shown, have no immanent active 
powers whatsoever, but only a passive capacity of resistance, 
can we build up a structure — or rather, can a structure build 
itself up — which will, so to speak, run itself, and manifest all 
the ordinary phenomena of life and mind ? 

The human body, if regarded simply as a mechanical struct- 
ure, is not merely one machine seemingly put together with a 
single purpose, but an organism composed of many machines, 
each having a purpose of its own, but all being coordinated 
and cooperating for a common and higher end. Thus, speak- 
ing roughly, the eye is an opera-glass ; the mouth with its ap- 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 187 

pendages is a mill for cutting, grinding, and masticating food ; 
the stomach is a chemical laboratory ; the vocal organs form a 
flute or clarionet ; the heart is a pump ; the circulatory canals 
are a set of hydraulic works, etc. All these " natural ma- 
chines " are of recent construction, corresponding with the age 
of the particular animal in whose body they are now put to- 
gether, most of them being already perfected, or far advanced 
towards perfection, even before birth, though the functions of 
many of them come into activity only after the embryonic 
period. Thus, they are not only skilfully arranged, but prear- 
ranged for future use. Children have lungs before they breathe, 
eyes before they see, ears before they hear, and rudimentary 
teeth before they need to masticate. 

How came these organs to be so constructed ? By whom, 
or by what, were they thus put together and curiously built 
up ? 

" I don't know," says the Agnostic ; " and because I am not 
sure what the operating agency is, I will assume that there 
is none, and will merely describe the successive steps of the 
process by which they are gradually perfected." According to 
the Animists, Stahl, Hartmann, and their disciples, the ani- 
mal's own soul built them up unconsciously. " Through in- 
herited aptitudes," say the Darwinites, "the elementary par- 
ticles having contracted the habit of thus assembling themselves 
together, when they were once the constituent atoms of this 
animal's ancestors : " pretty much as some people continue 
to go to church after they have ceased to care much about the 
services. " The vital force — the nisus formativus or bildungs- 
trieb — constructed them," say the Vitalists. " The inherent 
physical energies of material atoms," says the Materialist. 
" Nature," says the Pantheist. " God," says the Theist. 

Thus much, at least, may be affirmed with certainty ; that 
the power or agency, whatever it was, which first constructed 
them, must have been anterior in time and action to the organ 
so constructed, and therefore cannot have been inherent in the 
organ itself. The cause must precede the effect ; the builder 
must antedate the building ; since nothing can act before it 
exists. If the structure is formed on a definite plan, if there 
is an evident arrangement of the parts with a view to the fut- 



188 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

ure exigencies of the animal's life, those exigencies must have 
been foreseen, and the plan prearranged, before the organism 
itself came into being. Hence, the creative or fashioning 
agency must be sought for outside of the organism ; even if 
now embodied in it, as is supposed to be the case with the 
hypothetical vital force, it must have existed before that em- 
bodiment took place. Though the soul has clothed itself with 
a corporeal integument, it must have been naked before that 
garment was woven, and even while it was a-weaving. If you 
tell me that the machine, when once constructed, will run of 
itself, without the help of any foreign motive-power, your doc- 
trine, whether credible or not, is at least intelligible. But 
when you say that the organ, as a whole, constructed itself out 
of materials previously structureless, the proposition is mean- 
ingless and self-contradictory. 

The argument here is by no means restricted to the genetic 
process, which appears as the birth and development of the 
organism. It extends also to the processes of nutrition ; that 
is, to the means which are constantly provided for the mainte- 
nance of the organism in being. Directly or indirectly, nutri- 
tion is carried on through the conversion of the inorganic into 
the organic ; through the plastic formation, out of chemically 
simple elements, first of organic compounds, and then of living 
tissues. Here again, continuously, throughout the whole life, 
the weaver must precede the web. Whichever way we turn, 
the life appears as a true cause secundum esse, as that which 
incessantly generates and upholds the organization ; while the 
organism, being the product, cannot be that which upholds the 
life. Even protoplasm, considered simply as protoplasm, with- 
out any adjunct, is as dead as Julius Cassar. It needs the pres- 
ence and cooperation of preexisting life, before it can be 
warmed into animate being. Uproot the plant, or knock the 
animal on the head, and the protoplasmic constituents of the 
sap or the blood, though retaining all their characteristic me- 
chanical and chemical properties, will no longer be fashioned 
into living tissues, but will generate only corruption and death. 

The phenomena in question are not made one whit more 
explicable by referring to the frequency and the regularity of 
their occurrence. What is called " the reign of law " dimin- 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 189 

ishes our wonder, it is true, as we are no longer startled by an 
unexpected occurrence. The event is regarded with more 
apathy, when it recurs every day and every hour ; but it is not 
thereby made less mysterious. An efficient cause must be found 
for the frequent repetition of an act, just as much as for its first 
appearance. A single step in the series is not accounted for 
by referring it to the preceding step, however familiar the se- 
quence may have become, when the only perceivable connec- 
tion between the two is mere antecedence and consequence. 
But many people seem to imagine that, if the successive steps 
are very short ones, or placed very near each other, a bridge 
is thereby formed, on which we may pass without difficulty 
from one extreme to the other, either from the structureless 
germ up to the complex and perfect organism, or from the 
animalcule up to man. The whole theory of the evolutionists 
is founded upon this illusion. But the real difficulty consists 
in taking any step at all, however short. Cen'est que le premier 
pas qui coute. If one has no power of locomotion, he cannot 
budge the fraction of an inch beyond the starting-point. Even 
if the Law of Continuity, first announced by Leibnitz, were 
verified by observation through its whole extent ; even if a 
chain of being were established, without break or leap, from the 
lowest Monad up to the intellect of an archangel, the successive 
steps sliding into each other by imperceptible gradations, we 
should not thereby diminish one whit the necessity of seeking, 
outside of the series, for a First Cause of all things. Without 
the agency of Mind, which cannot be found in a chain of mere 
physical events or self-acting machines, however near they may 
lie to each other, the first step of evolution, the least move- 
ment or change, becomes impossible. 

Certain modes of motion and capacities of resistance, im- 
properly called physical or chemical " forces," are invariably 
connected with definite mechanical antecedents. Here we are 
in the inorganic kingdom, in the realm of mechanical necessity, 
where " the reign of law " seems to be absolute. But it should 
not be supposed that " the law " accounts for the phenomenon, 
or explains how it is brought about ; the law is a mere state- 
ment of the fact that, so far as observation has extended, cer- 
tain events recur only in a fixed order. Even when vital or 



190 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

psychical forces are carried over, as they frequently are, into 
this domain, they operate not by extinguishing, or even sus- 
pending, the mechanical properties which are there at home, but 
simply by overriding their opposition, a proportionally larger 
expenditure, a greater effort, of the psychical force being needed 
in order to overcome this resistance, and the result produced 
being therefore properly compound, because determined by the 
joint agency of the force and the resistance acting together. 
What we term a miracle, therefore, does not violate, or even 
suspend, any of the so-called Laws of Nature ; any more than 
a chemist does, when, by applying heat or galvanism, he over- 
powers the chemical affinity which binds together the two ele- 
ments of a neutral salt ; any more than a man does, when, by a 
strong effort of will, he bursts his chains or lifts a heavy weight. 
In either case, there is a joint operation of two factors : the 
one, the physical resistance, being determined by its mechan- 
ical antecedents; and the other, the psychical force, being 
guided by its purpose or Final Cause. The essence of the mir- 
acle consists in the purpose wherein it originates, and not at all 
in the nature of the force employed, nor in the outward physi- 
cal result, which is just as much produced by the interaction of 
force and resistance as is the stroke of the piston of a steam- 
engine. When the materialist denies either the possibility or 
the credibility of psychical force, guided by a definite purpose, 
thus intervening and changing the ordinary sequence of physi- 
cal events, he forgets the unquestionable action of his own will 
in the formation of the spoken or written words which express 
his denial. Now, if there be in nature distinct and manifest in- 
dications of the existence and activity of a Mind and purpose 
other and higher than the mind and purposes of man — and for 
this argument, it matters not at all how much higher, that is, 
whether they be merely angelic or divine — then the occurrence 
of a miracle is just as credible as the story of a St. Francis of 
Assisi, a San Carlo Borromeo, a Pascal, or an Oberlin. For the 
life and character of either of these men are as exceptional — I 
am not afraid to add, as miraculous — as many events recorded 
in Scripture, which every Christian believes to be miraculous, 
because he recognizes in them a definite purpose to promote 
the moral and spiritual well-being of mankind. 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 191 

According to the conclusion at which we have now arrived, 
matter has only a capacity of resisting a change of state. Effi- 
cient Cause and Final Cause, by which alone that resistance 
can be overcome, and which must operate in combination with 
each other, can be found only in the action of mind. With this 
view of the philosophy of Causation, let us go back to consider 
further the several theories that have been propounded to ex- 
plain the origin of the various organs in the human body. 
Among these, the doctrine of the Agnostics may at once be 
put aside, because it abandons the problem as insoluble ; 
though the open admission of inability to find the true cause is 
here coupled with an unfounded implied assertion, that it is un- 
necessary to seek for it, as no such cause exists. The vague ab- 
straction of " Nature " or " Substance," as the occult cause of 
all phenomena, which is the pantheistic theory, really coincides 
with the doctrine of the materialists, that the building of the 
organism is due to the native forces immanent in the senseless 
particles out of which it is constructed. Both of these forms of 
the doctrine have been sufficiently confuted in the foregoing 
part of this discussion. The only other theory which is essen- 
tially materialistic in character is that of " Pangenesis," pro- 
pounded avowedly as a provisional hypothesis by Mr. Charles 
Darwin, and in a modified form adopted also by Mr. Herbert 
Spencer. It is open to all the objections which lie against 
materialism proper, besides having some formidable difficulties 
of its own. The " gemmules," through which alone the inher- 
ited aptitudes are transmitted, form only an infinitesimal por- 
tion of the body of the offspring ; they are contained in the 
egg or germ, which is all that is directly handed down from 
parent to child. The process through which the germ is subse- 
quently developed into the full-grown organism takes place 
through the gradual accretion, upon the basis of these gem- 
mules, of foreign particles and chemical elements coming from 
the world outside, which have had no opportunity of being 
modified by ancestral peculiarities, since they never formed a 
part of the body of the parent. At most, therefore, the gem- 
mules are only the foremen of the works ; they are not the 
bricks and mortar out of which the edifice is constructed, but 
only the workmen which determine how these crude materials 



192 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

shall be put together. Being themselves only particles of mat- 
ter, their coordinating action upon other particles still presents 
the insurmountable difficulty of conceiving inert senseless atoms 
to be endowed with active powers and definite architectural 
propensities, and to be capable of acting outside of themselves 
upon other atoms. Whether these powers and propensities 
were native and immanent in the atoms from the outset, or 
were superinduced upon them by hereditary descent, makes no 
difference ; for it is inconceivable that they should be lodged 
there at all. 

The three remaining theories easily coalesce into one, which 
affords the only intelligible explanation of the phenomenon, 
since it is thereby resolved into the action of Mind, thus admit- 
ting the necessary cooperation of Final with Efficient Causation. 
The evolution of the fully-formed organism from the nearly 
structureless germ takes place by epigenesis ; that is, by a 
generative process which consists in the exertion of the neces- 
sary quantum of force in a determinate manner, or with defi- 
nite aims and tendencies, so as to construct these particular 
tissues, and build up these particular organs, rather than any 
other. The force is not applied at random; if it were, it 
would be wasted; but it is controlled and guided throughout 
by what the Germans call the Grattungsidee, the idea of the 
typical form of the species to which the germ belongs. This 
generative force, acting in accordance with its determinative 
and guiding principle, is expressed by one school of physiolo- 
gists as "the vital force," the nisus formativus of Blumenbach. 
Here the Vitalists merely give a name to the constructive 
process, without attempting to carry the explanation of it any 
farther. 

But the doctrine of the Animists, first propounded by Stahl 
near the close of the seventeenth century, and now maintained 
by Bouillier, Hartmann, and a large school of their disciples, 
supplies this deficiency, and first affords an intelligible theory 
of the process through which' the organism is originally built 
up, and is afterwards maintained in being. Briefly described, 
this doctrine is, that the unconscious instinctive action of the 
animal's own will and intellect — the thinking self, in the case 
of the human being — is the plastic or formative cause, the 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 193 

architect of the material structure in which that animal soul 
has its shelter and its home. This theory harmonizes perfectly 
with the theist's conception of the process, since it attributes, 
as Leibnitz does, the primary endowment of each soul with its 
special instincts to the infinite wisdom of the Author and Gov- 
ernor of all things. May not the unconscious Will in man and 
animals be the agent of Deity in carrying out the divine plan 
in creation — an agent which is still finite and limited in its 
sphere and modes of operation, and thus sometimes leaving 
faults and imperfection in its work ; but which is still divinely 
inspired, and therefore capable of producing results immeasur- 
ably superior to the best work of the uninspired conscious in- 
tellect ? " For aught I know," says Coleridge, " the thinking 
spirit within me may be substantially one with the principle of 
life and of vital operation. For aught I know, it may be em- 
ployed as a secondary agent in the marvellous organization 
and organic movements of my body." 1 

This is an exact description of Instinct — that faculty so 
marvellous and inscrutable in its modes of work, and in what it 
accomplishes, that it compelled even the cold and sceptical 
Kant to cry out, " Instinct is the voice of God." 

Many of the acknowledged results of instinct so closely re- 
semble the work here supposed to be done by it unconsciously, 
that one is almost compelled to believe the same agency to be 
employed in both cases. The preservation of the animal's 
life, the choice and collection of its appropriate food, the con- 
tinuance of its species, the care of its young, the building of 
its home, the fit period for its annual migration and the proper 
direction of its flight, all are tasks performed by its own vol- 
untary efforts, under the guidance indeed of a wisdom immeas- 
urably higher than its own, but through the conscious use of its 
own organs and muscular powers, which are brought into play 
by a vague impulse, a blind craving, urging it to attain some 
useful end of which the creature itself knows nothing. Is it 
unreasonable, then, to suppose those muscles and other organs 
are first constructed by the same kind of heaven-directed agency 
by which they are certainly fed and kept in repair ? As Hart- 
mann remarks, the Gattungsidee of each species of bird in- 

1 Biographia Literaria, New York ed., 1847, p. 569. 
13 



194 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

eludes the special fashion of its nest and the notes of its pecul- 
iar song, just as much as the fashion of its plumage, the struct- 
ure of its skeleton, and the characteristics of its beak and claws. 
In either case, an idea is to be realized, a purpose is to be car- 
ried into execution, and this is the proper function of will and 
intellect combined. The nest and the song are certainly the 
bird's own instinctive acts ; why not, also, the fashioning of 
the organs through which these acts are performed, since these 
are parts of the same whole, a concatenation of means to one 
and the same end ? It has already been shown that the plas- 
tic energy which builds up the organism cannot reside in its 
own work, since the architect must act before the house can 
be begun. It is also evident that the soul, though present 
to the body and intimately connected with it, as the imme- 
diate sphere of its activity, cannot strictly be said to be in 
the very substance out of which that organism is constructed, 
but rather, like every other efficient cause, must operate on 
it ah extra. The directing energy must be outside and virt- 
ually independent of the work directed or the thing accom- 
plished. 

The unconscious action of the emotions, the thoughts, and 
other states of mind, upon the corporeal functions, either im- 
peding, or quickening and intensifying, their normal work, and 
sometimes even bringing the muscles into play in order to ward 
off danger or to express involuntary sympathy, is matter of the 
commonest observation. Shame calls up blushes, grief makes 
the eyes overflow, angry determination knits the brow and sets 
the teeth, fear blanches the cheek and paralyzes the limbs. 

Mihi frigidus horror 
Membra qua tit, gelidusque coit formidine sanguis. 
Obstupui, steteruntque coma3, et vox faucibus hsesit. 

These physical consequences of our mental states, so far 
from being produced intentionally, generally take place in spite 
of our utmost efforts to prevent them. The involuntary pro- 
tective action of the limbs and other organs is quicker and 
surer than our conscious efforts guided by reflection. Before 
we have time to think, the deadly thrust is parried, the e}^e- 
lids close against powder flashed in the face, and a sudden 
spring saves us from a dangerous fall. Involuntary sympathy 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 195 

sends a yawn all round the circle, repeats the cries and gestures 
of the intenser passions, and makes the spectators of a rope- 
dancer writhe and twist their bodies as if they too were in 
imminent peril. Imagination artfully incited is a more potent 
bane or antidote than can be found in the whole materia med- 
iea. One who falsely believes that he has swallowed an active 
drug often suffers all its real consequences. Thinking and 
reading about a fancied malady often prostrate the patient 
with its actual symptons. Even the death-stroke is sometimes 
so far anticipated that the sentenced criminal dies before it 
has fallen. The stigmata of St. Francis, and the periodic 
bleeding afresh of wounds on the hands, feet, and brow of Lou- 
ise Lateau and other fanatics, do not need to be accounted for 
by any cause more mysterious than the ill-regulated fervor of 
their own religious emotions. What is called the coordinat- 
ing action of the spinal cord and the sympathetic ganglia over 
the vital functions of the body cannot be rationally conceived 
except as the unconscious action of mind regulating and keep- 
ing in play the curious mechanism which it originally fashioned 
and put together. 

Inherited resemblances and aptitudes become intelligible 
only when they are conceived as the results of spiritual endow- 
ments, and as transmitted in the mind and character which the 
child certainly receives by direct descent from the parents. I 
can understand how certain modes of thought should have be- 
come habitual to the intellect, and certain modes of action to 
the will ; for we know from experience that either of these 
faculties, though capable almost of an infinite variety in its 
modes of operation, may yet easily fall into the ruts of custom 
and repeat the same theme, even to weariness. But I cannot 
understand how the mere particles of brute matter should con- 
tract any habit whatsoever, except of being systematically 
quiescent and changeless, when not acted upon by a foreign 
force, or of continuing indefinitely the simple rectilinear or vibra- 
tory motion which has once been impressed upon them. The 
Darwinian gemmules, inconceivably minute in size, are nearly 
akin to the Leibnitzian Monads ; and, like these, must be sup- 
posed to be units of spiritual being, which furnish the only 
rational theory and explanation of those phenomena of heredi- 



196 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

tary transmission and efficient and final causation which are 
manifested in the organic kingdom. 

Because Efficient Causation is conceivable only as an exer- 
tion of force, I have argued that it must be regarded as Tran- 
seunt and transcendent ; that is, as operative on other things 
ah extra, and thereby as producing change externally and be- 
yond itself. Hence it cannot be attributed to mere brute 
Matter, which must be conceived as occupying space, and there- 
fore as limited by the space so occupied. But does such tran- 
scendent action become any more intelligible when it is re- 
garded as the action of Mind ? In one respect it certainly 
does ; for it harmonizes with whatever else we know respecting 
the nature and peculiar functions of Mind. Knowledge is one 
of these functions, and the sphere of knowledge is certainly 
not limited to what takes place within the thinking Ego, but 
extends to what lies far outside of it, both in time and space. 
We know both the past and the distant, and we anticipate 
even the future. Consequently, as the mind certainly, in one 
sense, extends its sphere of operation out of itself, and even goes 
beyond the limits of the body, in order to know, we may well 
believe that it exercises an equally transcendent power in order 
to act. As I have already argued in the previous article, the 
thinking Self (w r hich is the proper designation of what is usu- 
ally called " mind "), since it is absolutely one and indivisible, 
does not occupy space, and yet is undeniably present to the 
whole nervous organism which it animates. All that is inside 
of the skin is also inside of consciousness. I feel not only at 
my finger-tips, but over the whole surface of my body. In- 
stantly, and without the slightest doubt, I localize a pain, as in 
the head, the knee, or the back, and put my finger at once upon 
the spot where a mosquito has stung me. Without the least 
difficulty or effort, the will bends any joint and contracts any 
muscle that is usually subject to its conscious action. Granted 
that we cannot conceive how the Ego exercises this marvellous 
power ; still the fact is unquestionable that it does exercise it ; 
it is omnipresent to the whole body. 

It is also easy to show that the thinking Self is not any more 
subject to the limitations of Time, than to those of Space. 
Analyze even the simplest act of memory, and you will find 



THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 197 

that, not merely a mental image or picture of what has been, 
but the Past itself, must be actually present to consciousness. 
What enables me to decide without hesitation, that the portrait 
now before me presents either an accurate or an unfaithful 
copy of the features of my friend, who died ten years ago ? 
An act of comparison is necessary here ; the painter's work can 
be judged only by a reference to the living face of which it 
professes to be a copy. Then that living face must even now 
be present to my consciousness ; otherwise, I should have no 
standard whereby to estimate the artist's work. But you will 
doubtless say that this standard is only a mental image, only 
another picture called up by the imagination, and attested by 
the memory to be a faithful likeness. Consider for a moment, 
however, and you will find that this answer leaves the matter 
short, as it merely pushes the difficulty one step farther back. 
For the question immediately recurs, What convinces me that 
the picture thus presented by my imagination is a more faith- 
ful portrait than the one on canvas ? Of course, memory says 
that this one is the true image, and the other is only a coun- 
terfeit. But how could memory say so, except through com- 
paring both pictures, the one seen by the outward sense and 
the other visible only to the mind's eye, with the original of 
which they both profess to be a copy ? Turn the matter as we 
may, then, the Past must be veritably present to consciousness, 
or we could know nothing about it except by vague conjecture. 
Memory does not. conjecture, but affirms with absolute convic- 
tion, even repeating its testimony on oath when a question 
of life or death, is pending. As I have elsewhere urged, we 
could not be sure of our personal indentity, if our past Self 
and our present Self were not both present to consciousness, so 
as to be compared with each other and recognized as identical. 
Hence I feel constrained to adopt the conclusion, which is 
accepted also by Dean Mansel and Schopenhauer, that the con- 
scious Self is independent both of Time and Space. Its acts 
and manifestations, indeed, as presented either to the external 
senses or to consciousness, are necessarily subject to these two 
forms and conditions of all phenomenal being. My volition 
can appear in outward act only through movements which re- 
quire Space ; and my thoughts are subject to the law of Time, 



198 THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 

since they can be presented only in succession to my conscious- 
ness. But the conscious Subject of these mental states be- 
longs to the realm of ontology, or pure being; it is a nou- 
menon, and as such it transcends the laws and conditions of all 
phenomena. It is finite indeed, and therefore limited and de- 
pendent ; it can act, remember, and think only within the re- 
stricted sphere marked out for it by an all-wise Providence. 
But though his finite nature exposes him to error and sin, Man 
is still made in the image of God ; he is free, responsible, and 
immortal, while neither of these three attributes belongs to any 
other form of created being. And he is also made after the 
likeness of his Creator, in that the unity and indivisibility of 
his inmost being emancipate him from the laws of Space, while 
his responsibility and undying nature are equally free from the 
limitations of Time. 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT 

THEORY. 

FROM THE MEMOIRS OP THE AMERICAN ACADEMY, NEW SERIES, VOL. V. 

Communicated March 27, April 10, and May 1, 1860. 

It is a familiar truth in palaeontology, that the various races 
or species of animal and vegetable life which now tenant the 
earth, or have formerly tenanted it, did not originate all at 
once, but have been introduced at different and widely sepa- 
rated epochs. Those of which the remains are entombed in 
the earlier fossiliferous strata are now all, or nearly all, extinct ; 
only a few among the Invertebrates have living representatives 
at the present day. And as the process of extinction was not 
sudden or sweeping, but gradual and protracted, so the new 
species appeared in succession, after long intervals of time, to 
fill the vacant places. " It appears," to adopt Sir C. Lyeli's 
language, " that from the remotest periods, there has been ever 
a coming in of new organic forms, and an extinction of those 
which preexisted on the earth ; some species having endured 
for a longer, others for a shorter time ; while none have ever 
reappeared after once dying out." The species which are now 
in existence belong, geologically speaking, to comparatively re- 
cent times ; indeed, none of the higher order among them are 
found in a fossil state at all. 

Only two theories are possible as to the origin of all the spe- 
cies which have thus been successively introduced upon the 
earth. The one refers the beginning of each to a special act of 
creative power. The work of creation, upon this view, was not 
begun and ended at one time, but has been frequently renewed 
and extended, no period being without some manifestations of 
it in the appearance of new forms of life. This doctrine rests 
upon the fact, confirmed by all observation, that, in the ordinary 



200 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEOEY. 

process of reproduction, each species gives birth only to those of 
its own kind. It is contrary to universal experience, in the 
case of well recognized and perfectly distinct species, that fer- 
tile offspring, capable of continuing their own race, should be 
specifically different from their parents. Accordingly, if a new 
form or species appears, it cannot have been produced by or- 
dinary generation, but must have been specially created. 

The other theory, resting mainly upon obscure and anoma- 
lous cases, or upon processes supposed to be of so great length 
that man cannot have witnessed the beginning and end of 
them, assumes that various species have been developed out of 
one another by ordinary descent, the progeny appearing, either 
immediately or after many generations, specifically different 
from their parents or ancestors. According to this view, the 
multiplication of species takes place by a process perfectly 
analogous to that of the multiplication of individuals of the 
same species, though it is more infrequent, or requires a greater 
length of time for its completion. This is the Development 
Theory, so called, which has been maintained, with various 
modifications, by Maillet, in a work called the " Telliamed," 
by the French naturalist, Lamarck, by the English author of 
the "Vestiges of Creation," and in its latest form by Mr. 
Charles Darwin. The earlier forms of it have been rejected 
by the well-nigh unanimous verdict of the scientific world ; the 
latest has been urged with so much ability and candor, and 
has already found so many adherents, that it merits distinct 
and respectful consideration. 

Mr. Darwin's theory of the origin of species by development 
really consists of five distinct steps or processes, which need to 
be, sharply distinguished from each other, though two or more 
of them are often confounded under the same name. 

1. Individual Variation. — It is a well-known fact, that in- 
dividual plants and animals are occasionally found to vary by 
slight peculiarities from the general type of the race or breed 
to which they belong. The offspring is made a little bigger 
or a little smaller than its parent ; or some organ, member, or 
limb is abnormally repeated or deficient, or wrongly placed, or 
unusually developed, whether by excess or defect. 

2. Inherited Variation. — Generally, these abnormal traits 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 201 

are found only in the individuals in which they first appear, 
the offspring of these reverting immediately to the ancestral 
or common type. Sometimes, they are continued by descent 
through two or three generations, and then finally disappear. 
Less frequently, if at all, they are continued by inheritance in- 
definitely, so as to become the distinguishing mark of a pecul- 
iar breed. Mr. Darwin's theory rests exclusively upon those 
which are thus perpetuated by inheritance ; " any variation," 
he says, " which is not inherited, is unimportant for us." 

3. Cumulative Variation. — One peculiarity having been per- 
petuated by inheritance, it is assumed that another may be 
superinduced upon it by a perfectly analogous process, and 
then a third, and so on indefinitely ; so that the divergence 
from the parent stock, at first slight and unimportant, may be 
extended as far as we please, till it will bridge over the inter- 
val between the two extremes of animal life. Thus, if time 
enough be allowed for the process, we can account for the de- 
velopment of man himself out of a zoophyte. 

4. The Struggle for Life. — Every species of animal and veg- 
etable life, the human species included, can multiply its own 
numbers without end, this capability being always exercised 
according to the law of a geometrical progression. If it were 
exerted to the utmost, without any check from external cir- 
cumstances, any species might be so multiplied that it would 
soon need to occupy the whole face of the earth. But as this 
power is possessed by all, there must be perpetual competition 
between them for the ground and for food. A battle for exist- 
ence is constantly going on, the stronger species always tending 
to push out the weaker, the one better adapted to the locality 
or the strife forever usurping the place of its less qualified rival. 
Hence the extinction of the countless races whose existence is 
now known only from their remains imbedded in the rocks. 

5. Natural Selection. — Through the three processes of Va- 
riation, Nature is perpetually furnishing fresh combatants for 
this unceasing strife ; and any peculiarity, however slight, of 
one of the new races, may be a source of strength or weakness, 
and thus lead to victory or defeat in the contest, — that is, to 
the preservation or extinction of one or more parties to it. 
Each variation, if it be an improvement in the adaptation of an 



202 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

organ to a function, or of a species to its locality or environ- 
ment of circumstances, will tend to preserve the race ; if the 
opposite, to kill it out. Thus the nicest adaptations of means 
to ends are accounted for, without any necessity of supposing 
that they were intentional or designed. The success, however 
insured, of any new-comer over its immediate competitor, is 
often attended with a train of consequences fatal to the contin- 
uance of a whole set of pre existent species, and favorable to the 
ultimate introduction of new ones in their place. 

It appears from this analysis, that the appellation which Mr. 
Darwin has given to his own theory is a misnomer. He calls it 
" the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the 
Preservation of Favored Races in the Struggle for Life." But 
it is evident that the origin of species is fully accounted for, if 
at all, by the first three steps of Variation, which alone explain 
the introduction and indefinite multiplication of new forms of 
life ; of the two remaining steps, one, the Struggle for Life, is 
of use only to account for the extinction of species formerly in 
being ; and the other, Natural Selection, is adduced merely to 
explain that nice adaptation of means to ends, so apparent 
throughout the animal and vegetable kingdoms, which has 
been held to prove design, and so to evince the intelligence of 
the Creative Cause. A theorist who denies the necessity of 
any intervention of such a Cause at any period subsequent to 
the introduction of the first poor germ of life upon the earth 
is, of course, bound to show how these adaptations became so 
numerous and so perfect ; and Natural Selection is the very 
ingenious hypothesis which Mr. Darwin has framed for this 
purpose. 

The state of the evidence upon each of these five points, and 
the bearing of each upon the main question, may be briefly 
summed up as follows : — 

1. Individual Variation is the one admitted fact upon which 
the whole theory rests, but which, considered in itself alone, 
does not aid us at all in the attempt to explain the introduc- 
tion of new races of being. It accounts at the utmost for the 
appearance of new individuals. 

2. Inherited Variation is more questionable, the general rule 
undoubtedly being that peculiar and anomalous features — 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPxMENT THEORY. 203 

deformities, monstrosities, or lusus naturce," as they are often 
termed — are either not transmitted at all by descent, or dis- 
appear in the course of two or three generations. Whether 
they disappear because a congenital peculiarity, like an acquired 
one, such as a scar, a callus, or a stiffened joint, not affecting the 
organs of reproduction, has no tendency to reproduce itself in 
the offspring ; or because the monstrosity is itself a sign or a 
consequence of some weakness or defect of constitution, whereby 
the varying individual is rendered less capable than others of 
continuing its kind ; or because the necessary crossing of the 
altered breed with one that is unaltered soon reduces the ab- 
normal growth to nothing ; or that breeding in and in, which 
results from the avoidance of crossing, so weakens the stock 
that it soon ceases to be fertile ; or whether several of these 
causes combined hasten the work of extinction, — certain it is, 
that Nature makes haste to eliminate these departures from 
type, and to preserve her own original stamp unchanged. Art 
may to some extent, and with much painstaking, counteract 
Nature, laboring to preserve and continue the abnormal devel- 
opments which happen to suit man's convenience or fancy, 
through enforced isolation and regimen, diligent culture, or 
multiplying or changing the food ; but the very necessity of 
adopting these expedients shows the tendency of Nature to be 
the other way, towards the extinction of the forced growth. 
As Mr. Darwin himself remarks, " sterility is the bane of our 
horticulture ; " and with all the care and skill of the most ex- 
pert breeder of cattle, the progeny of his best specimens often 
disappoint his expectations, and show an unmistakable ten- 
dency to revert and degenerate. 

Of course, it is admitted that what are called permanent 
u Varieties " exist, which, with but few precautions, may be 
made to breed true ; but that these so-called " Varieties " 
originated in Individual Variations perpetuated by inheritance, 
or that they were not just as much original or special creations 
as the Species themselves under which they are ranked, is 
matter only of hypothesis and conjecture. With respect to the 
numerous " Varieties " of our dogs, horses, sheep, goats, pig- 
eons, etc., Mr. Darwin " believes," or is " doubtfully inclined 
to believe," or is " fully convinced," that they came either 



204 THE LATEST FOEM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

from one wild stock, or from several ; or he " can form no opin- 
ion " on the subject. But science cannot be made to rest on 
mere " opinion." That we cannot trace the history of these 
Varieties ah origine is confessed. We cannot trace the stream 
to the fountain-head ; but we can follow it far enough to be 
sure that it has remained unchanged for thousands of years. 
The greyhound existed under the form which it now bears at 
least as early as some of the oldest sculptures in Egypt ; and 
"various " breeds " of pigeons were pets of the Pharaohs about 
five thousand years ago. 

3. But with whatever success the doctrine of Inherited Vari- 
ation may be applied to explain the existence of Varieties, it 
is certain that the origin of Species can be accounted for, on 
the Development Theory, if at all, only by Cumulative Varia- 
tion, — that is, only by supposing a vast number of Inherited 
Variations to be successively superinduced one upon another. 
Doubts have been raised upon this point only on account of 
ambiguity in the meaning of words, or from want of agree- 
ment as to the principles of classification. Many races, both 
of animals and vegetables, appear to be so nearly allied to each 
other, that certain naturalists consider them as mere Varieties ; 
others persist in considering them as so many distinct Species. 
Mr. Darwin himself remarks, that the distinction between 
Varieties and Species is " entirely vague and arbitrary ; " and 
says, in reference both to plants and animals, "that many 
forms, considered by highly competent judges as Varieties, 
have so perfectly the character of Species, that they are ranked 
by other highly competent judges as good and true Species/' 
Fortunately we do not need, so far as our main question is 
concerned, to enter into the intricacies of this discussion. The 
advocates of the Development Theory undertake to prove that 
all Species of animals, even those differing most widely from 
each other, " have descended from at most four or five pro- 
genitors, and plants from an equal or lesser number." Put- 
ting aside altogether, therefore, the much debated question 
whether the several races of men are only Varieties, or are so 
many distinct Species, and the same question with respect to 
dogs, there is no doubt that men and dogs belong respectively 
to different Species. And generally, putting aside the question 






THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 205 

whether the offspring of certain races, when crossed, are entirely 
sterile or only partially so, there is no doubt that animals or 
plants belong to distinct Species when they cannot be crossed 
or made to interbreed at all. It is enough to say, then, that 
only Cumulative Variation — and that of a vast number of 
successive steps — will account for the common origin of ani- 
mals which will not copulate with each other, or of plants 
which cannot be crossed. 

Now, on this cardinal point, which contains the essence of 
the Development Theory, since all the other questions involved 
in it are of no substantive importance, so far as what may be 
called the Philosophy of Creation is concerned, the direct evi- 
dence fails altogether, and we are left exclusively to the guid- 
ance of conjecture, and analogy, and estimates of what is pos- 
sible for all that we know to the contrary. It is not even 
pretended that we have any direct proof, either from observa- 
tion or testimony, that two Species so distinct that they will 
not interbreed have yet sprung from common ancestors. On 
the contrary, Mr. Darwin's own supposition is, that the proc- 
ess of developing two entirely distinct Species out of a third 
is necessarily so gradual and protracted as to require a quasi 
eternity for its completion, so that only a small portion of it 
could have been accomplished during the limited period of 
man's existence upon the earth. 

In the absence of any direct proof, then, it remains to be in- 
quired if there are sufficient grounds of probability, reasoning 
from analogy and the principles of inductive logic, for believ- 
ing that all Species of animals and plants may have originated 
from three or four progenitors. In speaking of the amount 
and frequency of Individual Variation, Mr. Darwin and bis 
followers abuse the word tendency. After heaping up as many 
isolated examples of it as they can gather, they assert the le- 
gitimate inference from such cases to be, that the species tends 
to vary, leaving out of view the fact that a vastly larger num- 
ber of individuals of the same species do not vary, but conform 
to the general type. And though only one out of a hundred 
of these Individual Variations is transmitted by inheritance, 
yet, after collecting as many instances of such transmission as 
they can find, they affirm that a Variation tends to become 



206 THE LATEST FOKM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

hereditably But it is not so. Tendency is rightly inferred 
only from the majority of cases ; a small minority of favor- 
able instances merely shows the tendency to be the other way. 
Thus, the cars do not tend to run off the track, although one 
train out of a thousand may be unlucky enough to do so ; but 
the general law is, that they remain on the track. Otherwise, 
people would not risk their lives in them. So a considerable 
number of children have been born with six fingers on each 
hand, and a still greater number with harelips. And yet we 
say that the tendency is for each hand to have only five fin- 
gers, and for the upper lip and palate to be closed. The ad- 
vocates of the Development Theory violate the first principles 
of inductive logic, by founding their induction not, as they 
should do, on the majority — the great majority — of cases, 
but on the exceptions, the accidents. Their whole proceeding 
is an attempt to establish a philosophy of nature, or a theory 
of creation, on anomalies, — on rare accidents, ■ — on lusus 
naturae. 

This single objection is fatal to Mr. Darwin's theory, which 
depends on the accumulation, one upon another, of many suc- 
cessive instances of departure from the primitive type. For 
if even Individual Variation appears only in one case out of a 
hundred, — and all naturalists will admit this proportion to be 
as large as the facts will warrant, — and if, out of the cases in 
which it does appear, not more than one in a hundred is per- 
petuated by inheritance, then should a second Variation hap- 
pen, what chance has it of leaping upon the back of one of the 
former class ? The chance is one out of 100 X 100 X 100 = 
1,000,000. And the chance of a third Variation being added 
to a second, which in turn has been cumulated upon a first, 
will be one out of 100 raised to the fourth power, or 100,000,- 
000. It is not necessary to carry the computation any farther, 
especially as Mr. Darwin states that the process of develop- 
ment can be carried out " only by the preservation and accu- 
mulation of infinitesimally small inherited modifications." Of 
course, the interval between two Species so distinct that they 
will not interbreed could be bridged over only by a vast num- 
ber of modifications thus minute; and on this calculation of 
the chances, the time required for the development of one of 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 207 

these Species out of the other would lack no characteristic of 
eternity except its name. But the theory requires us to be- 
lieve that this process has been repeated an indefinite number 
of times, so as to account for the development of all the Species 
now in being, and of all which have become extinct, out of 
four or five primeval forms. If the indications from analogy, 
on which the whole speculation is based, are so faint that the 
work cannot have been completed except in an infinite lapse 
of years, these indications practically amount to nothing. The 
evidence which needs to be multiplied by infinity, before it 
will produce conviction, is no evidence at all. 

4. What is here called the " Struggle for Life " is only an- 
other name for the familiar fact, that every Species of animal 
and vegetable life has its own Conditions of Existence, on 
which its continuance and its relative numbers depend. Re- 
move any one of these Conditions, and the whole Species must 
perish ; abridge any of them, and the number of individuals in 
the Species must be lessened. The intrusion of a new race 
which is more prolific, more powerful, more hardy, or in any 
way better adapted to the locality, may gradually crowd out 
some of its predecessors, or restrict them within comparatively 
narrow bounds. Thus the introduction of the Norway rat has 
banished the former familiar plague of our households and barns 
from many of its old haunts, and probably reduced the whole 
number in this Species to a mere fraction of what it once was. 
Civilized man also has successfully waged war against many 
ferocious or noxious animals, and probably exterminated some 
of them. But the appearance of a rival or hostile race is not 
the only cause of such diminution or extinction. A change 
in the physical features of a given district may partially or 
entirely depopulate it, without the necessary introduction of 
any new-comers. The drying up or filling up of a lake is nec- 
essarily fatal to all its aquatic tribes. The gradual submer- 
gence of an island or a continent must exterminate, sooner or 
later, all the native Species which were peculiar to it. And at 
the utmost, the failure of any Condition of Existence, what- 
ever may be its character, only leaves vacant ground for the 
future introduction or creation of new forms of life, without 
tending in the slightest degree to bring such new forms into 
existence. 



208 THE LATEST FOKM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEOEY. 

5. Natural Selection, also, as already remarked, has noth- 
ing to do with the origin of Species, and, in its abstract form, 
is only the statement of a truism. Of course, when two or 
more Species crowd each other, the more prolific or more 
vigorous, other things being equal, is more likely to gain pos- 
session of the disputed ground, and thus to diminish the num- 
bers of the other, or oblige it to migrate, or, in rare cases, to 
kill it out altogether. But this last supposition is a conceiv- 
able rather than a probable result. All observation goes to 
show, that every Species retains a very persistent hold upon 
life, however feeble may be the tenure of existence for its in- 
dividual members. Its numbers may be materially dimin- 
ished ; it may be forced to shift its ground, aud to suffer in 
consequence some slight change in its habits (Mr. Darwin 
himself tells us of upland geese, and of woodpeckers where 
there are no trees) ; it may be driven into holes and corners ; 
but somehow it still survives. Utter extinction of a Species 
is one of the rarest of all events ; not half a dozen cases can 
be enumerated which are known to have taken place since 
man's residence upon the earth. And these, surely, are a very 
insufficient basis on which to found a theory embracing all 
forms of life. Yet man is the greatest exterminator the world 
has ever known. His physical powers, coupled with the use of 
reason by which they are multiplied a thousand-fold, enables 
him to wage internecine war with comparative ease against 
nearly every race that molests him. Only the insect tribes, 
through their immense numbers and their littleness, can suc- 
cessfully defy him ; and these not always. In his Struggle 
for Life, all other creatures, animal or vegetable, must retreat 
or perish. Yet how few has he rooted out altogether ! But 
the Development Theory requires us to believe that this proc- 
ess of extinction, guided by Natural Selection, has been re- 
peated well-nigh to infinity. Not only all the races which are 
now found only in their stone coffins, but countless others, — 
" the interminable number of intermediate forms which must 
have existed " as connecting links, and a still greater crowd 
of other Varieties not intermediate, but gross, rude, and pur- 
poseless in their formation, — the unmeaning creations of an 
unconscious cause, — must all have perished, each through 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 209 

its own peculiar repetition of a series of events so infrequent 
that we can hardly compute the chances of their happening 
in any one case. 

It is easy to see why the extermination of a species, even 
upon the conditions of Mr. Darwin's theory, should be so infre- 
quent. He holds that all the races which have originated upon 
the earth, since the primeval act of creation first grudgingly 
threw only four or five seeds of existence into the ground, have 
been shaded into each other by gradations so slight as to be 
nearly imperceptible. Differing so slightly from each other, 
the advantage possessed by any one of them in the Struggle 
for Life must have been almost indefinitely small. But a pecu- 
liarity important enough to preserve those who have it, while 
whole species must die out because they have it not, cannot 
be thus trifling in character. It must have been one of grave 
moment; not a slight variation, but a jump. The succes- 
sive development of new races — itself, as we have seen, an 
extremely slow process — must have been continued through 
numerous steps, before the divergence resulting from it could 
have been serious enough to enable one of the divergent stocks 
to overcome and exterminate the other. Numerous species of 
the same genus now coexist, often within the bounds of a not 
very extended territory, without any one of them showing any 
tendency to supplant or exterminate another. Thus, South 
Africa is the country par excellence of the antelope ; about 
fifty species of this animal have been found there, many of 
them very abundant, notwithstanding the numerous Carnivora 
that prey upon them; and yet none of them showing any ten- 
dency to die out before civilized man came thither, and brought 
gunpowder along with him. 

Natural Selection can operate only upon races previously 
brought into being by other causes. In itself, it is powerless 
either to create or exterminate. In the Development Theory, 
its only function is, when the number of different species is so 
far multiplied that they crowd upon each other, and the extinc- 
tion of one or more becomes inevitable (if we can conceive of 
such a case), then to make the selection, or to determine which 
shall be the survivors and which the victims. As individuals 
of the same species, the same variety, and even of the same 
14 



210 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

flock, certainly differ much from each other in strength, swift- 
ness, courage, powers of endurance, and other qualities, Natural 
Selection has an undoubted part to play, when the struggle 
comes for such a flock, in determining which of its members 
shall succumb. But that it ever plays a corresponding part in 
the grand contest of species imagined by Mr. Darwin, is a 
supposition resting upon no evidence whatever, but only upon 
the faint presumption afforded by the fact, that certain species 
at widely separated times have become extinct, through what 
causes we know not ; and therefore, for all that we know to 
the contrary, Natural Selection may have had something to do 
with their disappearance. This is to found a theory, not upon 
knowledge, but upon ignorance. If such reasoning be legit- 
imate, we are entitled to affirm that the moon is inhabited by 
men " whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders." It may 
be so, for all we know to the contrary. 

This review of the state of the evidence upon each of Mr. 
Darwin's five points is enough to show that the testimony fails 
entirely just where it is most wanted. Facts and arguments 
are accumulated where they are of little or no avail, because 
the conclusions to which they tend, when properly limited and 
qualified, are admitted and familiar principles in science. But 
the theory of the Origin of Species by Cumulative Variation, 
which is all that is peculiar to this form of the transmutation 
hypothesis, rests upon no evidence whatever, and has a great 
balance of probabilities against it. Individual Variation, the 
Struggle for Life, and Natural Selection, each within clearly 
defined limits, are acknowledged facts, which still leave the 
main question in the philosophy of creation precisely where 
it was before ; and even the doctrine of Inherited Variation 
relates only to the origin of Varieties, which is a distinct ques- 
tion, and one of subordinate importance and interest, except 
to naturalists. Mr. Darwin has invented a new scheme of 
cosmogony, and finds that, like other cosmogonies, it is a blank 
hypothesis, not susceptible either of proof or disproof, and 
needing an eternity for its development. There is nothing new 
in such a speculation of what is possible in an infinite lapse of 
years. This latest form of the speculation has no advantage 
over the one first propounded some three thousand years ago ; 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 211 

- — that a chaos of atoms, moving about fortuitously in infinite 
space, may have happened, in an eternity, to settle into the 
present kosmos ; for the chance of order and fitness is at least 
one out of an infinite number of chances of disorder and con- 
fusion ; and, in an infinite series of years, this solitary chance 
must sooner or later be realized. Mr. Darwin begins, not 
with a crowd of inorganic atoms, though consistency required 
him to do so, but with four or five primeval organisms very 
low down in the scale, — say zoophytes and mollusks ; and 
supposes these to multiply and to vary their organization at 
random, each Variation, if an improvement, being preserved, 
and if useless or injurious, being killed out by Natural Selec- 
tion ; and thus, in an eternity, the present kosmos of animal 
and vegetable life may have been perfected, not exactly out of 
chaos, but out of very few and poor rudiments of life, without 
the necessary intervention anywhere of an intelligent Creative 
Cause. 

Every such speculation must be rejected, because it is self- 
contradictory. It professes to develop a Theory of Creation, 
— to explain the beginning of things ; and in order to do so, it 
is obliged to assume that the present or ordinary succession of 
phenomena, the common sequence of causes and effects which 
we every day witness, has continued from eternity ; that is, 
that there never was any Creation, and that the universe never 
began to be. It professes to untie the knot, and ends by deny- 
ing that there is any knot to untie. Mr. Darwin is too imagin- 
ative a thinker to be a safe guide in natural science ; he has 
unconsciously left the proper ground of physics and inductive 
science, and busied himself with questions of cosmogony and 
metaphysics. 

We are at liberty, then, to consider the relations of this De- 
velopment Theory to the great doctrines of philosophy and 
theology, without shifting the question, or seeking to place it 
upon any other grounds than those upon which the author 
himself bases it ; above all, without seeking to build up an 
argument ad invidiam, a purpose which is here emphatically 
disclaimed. 

Most interesting and important among these relations is its 
bearing upon the doctrine of Final Causes. The denial of 



212 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

such Causes — that is, the doctrine that purpose, intention, or 
design is nowhere discoverable in organic nature — has been 
reproachfully urged against some naturalists, on account solely 
of the tendency of such denial to weaken the arguments of the 
theist. Of course, it does have such an effect ; for what has 
ever been the principal, most intelligible, and most popular 
argument for the being of a God rests entirely upon the as- 
sumption that adaptations, especially if nice and complex, 
prove design, or must have been intended. But it is a mistake 
to suppose that Final Causes have no use or meaning in phi- 
losophy and science, apart from this application for a theolog- 
ical purpose. Aristotle first described and designated them, 
distinguishing them from the three other sorts of causes (Ma- 
terial, Formal, and Efficient), without even hinting at their 
bearing on the doctrine of the theist ; while Harvey success- 
fully used the assumption of a Final Cause as an instrument of 
discovery, and Cuvier did the same ; and it is in reference only 
to such use, viz. as instruments of physical research, that Lord 
Bacon condemned the study of Final Causes. 

And here it may be observed, that palaeontologists, like Mr. 
Darwin and Sir Charles Lyell, cannot, without gross inconsist- 
ency, repudiate the doctrine of Final Causes ; for in so doing, 
they deny the justice of the very inference, or assumption, 
call it what you may, on which their whole science is based. 
Geologists have no better reason, and no reason of a different 
kind, for affirming that fossil animals and plants did once, 
millions of years ago, exist as living animals and plants, than 
philosophers and theologians have for declaring that the animal 
and vegetable kingdoms — i. e. God's works — show purpose 
and intention just as clearly as man's works do. No direct 
proof is possible in either case. The only argument is from 
analogy and an appeal to common sense. The sceptic may 
defy Mr. Darwin to prove directly, that the Silurian fossils 
did not exist primarily, ab origine, in the rock where we now 
find them, — composed of stone, as they now are. For, take 
the doctrine of Democritus and Epicurus, which, as already 
intimated, is the progenitor of this Development Theory. If 
the mere fortuitous concourse of atoms, in the lapse of a past 
eternity, can have formed a living tree, fish, or elephant, then, 






THE LATEST FOEM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 213 

we say, that same rudderless and purposeless crowd of primeval 
atoms, in the lapse of a past eternity, can have formed, what 
is much easier, a fossil tree, fish, or elephant, as fossils. 

Yet Mr. Darwin assumes the previous existence of these 
fossils in a living state, as a means of building up a theory 
which shall enable him to assert, that " a structure even as per- 
fect as the eye of an eagle might be formed by natural se- 
lection ; " that is, without any special design or intention to 
create an organ of vision. He admits that "it is scarcely pos- 
sible to avoid comparing the eye to a telescope. We know 
that this instrument has been perfected by the long-continued 
efforts of the highest human intellects ; and we naturally infer 
that the eye has been formed by a somewhat analogous process." 
But he asks, u May not this inference be presumptuous ? 
Have we any right to assume that the Creator works by in- 
tellectual powers like those of man?" But this is not the 
question. There is just as much " presumption " in assuming 
to determine that the Creator ought not to work in a given 
manner, or through certain " intellectual powers," as in taking 
it for granted that he would or must employ such means. In 
either case, this is assuming to set bounds to Omnipotence, and 
to prescibe how Infinite Wisdom ought, or ought not, to act. 
Our only business, as students of natural science, is to follow 
the evidence wherever it may lead us, and to be consistent in 
the inferences which we draw from it, leaving it to philoso- 
phers and theologians to reconcile, if they can, our conclusions 
with their preconceived ideas of what is becoming to the Cre- 
ator. If they cannot reconcile them, so much the worse for 
their preconceived ideas. Our only question is, Whether it is 
consistent to infer, from a general analogy of structure with 
living forms at the present day, that certain fossilized skeletons 
were living organisms millions of years ago, though we confi- 
dently deny, in spite of the far more striking analogy between 
an eagle's eye and a telescope, that an intelligence presided 
over the formation of the one similar to that which we know 
to have concurred in the production of the other ? Can we 
justly infer life from a general analogy of structure, while we 
refuse to infer intelligence from a far more obvious analogy in 
the adaptation of means to ends? Mr. Darwin and Professor 



214 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

Baden Powell answer this question in the affirmative ; and it 
is for them to defend their consistency as they may. 

The purpose of the Development Theory, in any of its 
forms, is to exclude the necessity of believing in any special 
creative act, or any exertion of intelligence and will, and to 
refer all physical phenomena, the first appearance of new and 
distinct races included, to the continuous and uninterrupted 
action of what are called secondary causes, or natural laws. 
In pursuance of this purpose, even the primitive act of crea- 
tion, by which the universe was first evolved out of nothing- 
ness, or out of a chaotic mass, is either denied, or, what is the 
same thing, is removed to an infinite distance. An absolute 
beginning, either of the universe, or of any species of animal 
or vegetable life in the universe, is, on this Theory, an impossi- 
ble or inadmissible conception. Alluding to the opponents of 
this doctrine, Mr. Darwin observes : " These authors seem no 
more startled at a miraculous act of creation than at an ordi- 
nary birth. But do they really believe that, at innumerable 
periods in the earth's history, certain elemental atoms have 
been commanded suddenly to flash into living tissues ? " And 
Professor Powell still more distinctly remarks, " that strict 
science offers no evidence of the commencement of the existing 
order of the universe. It exhibits, indeed, a wonderful succes- 
sion of changes ; but however far back continued, and of how- 
ever vast extent and almost inconceivable modes of operation, 
still only changes ; occurring in recondite order, however little 
as yet disclosed, and in obedience to physical laws and causes, 
however as yet obscure and hidden from us. Yet in all this 
there is no beginning properly so called : no commencement 
of existence when nothing existed before : no creation in the 
sense of origination out of non-existence, or formation out of 
nothing. Even without referring to that metaphysical concep- 
tion, or more properly metaphysical contradiction, to imagine 
anything which can be strictly called a beginning, or first for- 
mation, or endowment of matter with new attributes, or in 
whatever other form of expression we may choose to convey 
any such idea, is altogether beyond the domain of science, as it 
is an idea beyond the province of human intelligence." 

Still it might be maintained that, although science gives us 



THE LATEST FOEM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 215 

no glimpse of a Creator, it does point to an Architect of the 
universe, in so far as it discovers and analyzes the innumera- 
ble and marvellous adaptations of means to ends, by which this 
earth is rendered a fitting and convenient habitation for all the 
tribes that tenant it, and by which the organization of each 
plant and animal is nicely adjusted to the place which it oc- 
cupies, and to the work which it has to perform. To rebut this 
conclusion, Mr. Darwin brings forward his improvement of the 
transmutation theory, in which, as already remarked, the office 
of Natural Selection is to explain and account for all natural 
adaptations and adjustments, even the nicest and most com- 
plex, without any necessity of supposing that they were in- 
tentional or designed, and consequently without any need of 
referring them to the action of an all-wise Architect. 

A careless thinker might yet argue, that Natural Selection 
itself is only an agent of the Deity, or a law established by 
Him for the very purpose of effecting the adaptations which 
are ascribed to it, and which would therefore still be properly 
regarded as the work of Him by whose will and wisdom 
they were fashioned. But such an argument would betray 
only confusion of thought. For " Natural Selection " is neither 
a created thing, nor a cause, nor a law dependent on the voli- 
tion of a lawgiver ; but it is an abstraction and a general- 
ization. It is not " Natural Selection " that kills out one or 
more species, and preserves others ; but climate, food, space, 
enemies, — or the want of them, — these do the work of kill- 
ing or preserving. God no more created or enacted the law 
of Natural Selection, than he created or enacted the Binomial 
Theorem. The Binomial Theorem is the necessary result of 
the necessary relations of numbers, and even Omnipotence 
could not abrogate it. Just so, Natural Selection is the inevit- 
able result of the relations of animals to their conditions of 
existence ; or rather, it is a general expression for these rela- 
tions themselves ; and thus Omnipotence could not abrogate 
it. Change the climate, food, space, enemies, etc., and Natural 
Selection would still act, but would kill where it now pre- 
serves, and preserve where it now kills. Thus, the results of 
the Theory are necessary or fatalistic ; they blot God out of 
creation everywhere. 



216 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

Moreover, in regard to the peculiarities, or Individual Va- 
riations, on which the Theory is based, and on which this 
principle of selection is to operate, there is an equal exclusion 
of intelligence and will, and even of law and order. As already 
explained, these peculiarities are the exceptions and monstrosi- 
ties, — the phenomena which least of all admit of being re- 
duced to law, or referred to the action of any uniform cause. 
These aimless and exceptional lusus natural, as they appear 
to most observers, form the chaos or rude matter of the Devel- 
opment Theory, on which the principle of Natural Selection, 
like the deus ex machina, is to operate, and evolve order out 
of confusion and complex adaptations out of accident. In fact, 
this principle would have nothing to do, — it would not be 
selection, — if the Individual Variations were not multiplied at 
random, and were not purposeless in character. The essence 
of the hypothesis is, that " there is a power always intently 
watching each slight accidental alteration," and finding a use 
or fitness where none was intended ; just as a savage, wander- 
ing on a sea-beach, may, after long search, find a stone which 
has a rude semblance of a chisel or an axe, and use it as such. 
Hence Mr. Darwin speaks consistently of "giving a better 
chance of profitable Variations occurring ; and unless profita- 
ble Variations do occur, Natural Selection can do nothing." 
But they will occur, for " Variation will cause the slight al- 
terations, generation will multiply them almost infinitely, and 
Natural Selection will pick out with unerring skill each im- 
provement," separating it from countless others which are not 
improvements, but, as useless or injurious, are to be elimin- 
ated. " Mere chance, as we may call it, might cause one vari- 
ety to differ in some character from its parents." True, it is 
afterwards explained that chance, as here used, does not nega- 
tive a cause. No one supposed that it did ; but it does nega- 
tive any purpose or intelligence in that cause ; and Mr. Dar- 
win intimates nothing to the contrary. 

There can be no mistake as to the character of such a 
scheme of cosmogony as this. Creation denied, or pushed 
back to an infinite distance, and a blind or fatalistic principle 
watching over a chaos of unmeaning and purposeless things, 
and slowly eliciting from them, during an eternity, all the 
order and fitness which now characterize the organized world. 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 217 

"It cannot be objected that there has not been time suffi- 
cient for any amount of organic change ; for the lapse of time 
has been so great as to be utterly inappreciable by the human 
intellect." Having cited the speculation of the "uniformi- 
tarian " geologists upon the long roll of ages, " the millions 
on millions of years " needed for the explanation of geological 
phenomena, according to their mode of reading them, it seems 
a trifling matter for him to ask us to admit, that ages of equal 
or even greater length may have elapsed, of which we have 
no record in the rocks ; that, besides the eternity of which 
we have some sort of geologic evidence, we should acknowl- 
edge the probable lapse of another eternity that has left no 
legible traces behind it, but which happens to be necessary 
for the purposes of his theory. " Consequently," he says, " if 
my theory be true, it is indisputable that, before the lowest 
Silurian stratum was deposited, long periods elapsed, as long 
as, or probably far longer than, the whole interval from the 
Silurian age to the present day ; and that during these vast, 
yet quite unknown, periods of time, the world swarmed with 
living creatures." " At a period immeasurably antecedent to 
the Silurian epoch, continents may have existed where oceans 
are now spread out ; and clear and open oceans may have 
existed where our continents now stand." 

Such speculations as these appear to be rather exercises of 
fancy than sober inferences of science. A mere hypothesis 
of indefinite Cumulative Variation, resting upon analogy in 
the absence of all direct proof, must be allowed also to create 
its own evidence of the inconceivable lapse of time requisite for 
its development, instead of drawing that evidence from dis- 
tinct and independent sources. 

Professor Powell, in his advocacy of the Development The- 
ory, argues at length against the doctrine of Final Causes ; but 
there is only one sentence in Mr. Darwin's volume from which 
we can infer the nature of his objections to the same doctrine. 
Speaking of the facts included under the general name of 
Morphology, he says : " Nothing can be more hopeless than to 
attempt to explain this similarity of pattern in members of 
the same class, by utility or the doctrine of Final Causes." 
Admitting for a moment the correctness of this assertion, 



218 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

what does it amount to ? Surely it will not be maintained, 
that because Final Causes cannot be discovered everywhere, 
therefore they do not exist anywhere. No one will contend, 
that because we cannot see the use of the rudimentary mammae 
in the male, therefore the corresponding organs in the female 
are not adapted to the suckling of her young. As well might 
it be argued that the rain does no good in moistening the 
parched earth, because other rain-drops are seemingly wasted 
by falling into the sea. To the reflecting theist, the general 
similarity of structure declares the unity of the Creator, with- 
out contradicting the lessons taught by special adaptations 
respecting His benevolence and forethought. To borrow Mr. 
Darwin's own example: "What can be more curious," he 
asks, " than that the hand of a man formed for grasping, that 
of a mole for digging, the leg of a horse, the paddle of the 
porpoise, and the wing of the bat, should all be constructed 
on the same pattern, and should include the same bones, in 
the same relative position?" Of course, by " the same" pat- 
tern, "the same" bones, and "the same" relative position, 
Mr. Darwin means a similar pattern, similar bones, position, 
etc. ; that is, that the pattern, bones, and position are alike in 
part, and different in part. Granted, then, that the doctrine of 
Final Causes will not explain the likeness ; will that of Mor- 
phology explain the difference ? The typical anterior limb is 
modified in many different ways, so as to become adapted to 
the wants of animals with different habits ; it becomes a hand 
for man, a shovel for a mole, a paddle for a porpoise, and a 
wing for a bat. The similarities in the pattern or ground- 
work are referred to one principle in science, Morphology ; 
the peculiarities in each special adaptation, to another princi- 
ple, that of Final Causes. Both the like and the unlike are 
constituent parts of one structure ; they are referred respec- 
tively to different, but not contradictory principles ; and since 
neither of these principles is competent for the explanation of 
the whole work, we see not why one of them should be ac- 
cepted to the rejection of the other. Guided by the doctrine 
of Homologies, the comparative anatomist searches for corre- 
sponding parts in different animals ; guided by that of Final 
Causes, whenever he finds a marked peculiarity in one part, 



THE LATEST FOEM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 219 

he suspects there is a special use or function to be subserved 
by it ; and by persevering in the search, he usually finds out 
what this use is. Thus, Harvey found that the valves in the 
veins and arteries opened in opposite directions ; and assum- 
ing that this difference could not l)e without a use or purpose, 
he discovered the circulation of the blood. Homologies may 
be the better guide to systems of classification of parts and 
members, though naturalists are not agreed upon this point. 
But the principle of Final Causes more frequently leads to 
discoveries in physiology, which science, indeed, has been built 
up almost exclusively by its aid. 

The theist believes, it is true, that a Creator of infinite wis- 
dom and benevolence has made nothing in vain ; that there is 
a use for everything, and a use which it was intended to serve. 
But he cannot assert that he has discovered this use and fath- 
omed this intention in every instance, without assuming that 
he possesses infinite wisdom himself. And the naturalist who, 
because he cannot discover the use, affirms that it does not ex- 
ist, is guilty of similar presumptuous folly. Looking at the 
works of finite intelligence, indeed, we find that a purpose is 
seldom unaccompanied by a want of purpose ; that chance ap- 
pears, so to speak, as the residuum of design. Thus, we often 
throw a stone, not intending to hit anything with it, but only 
to toss it out of the way. The throwing was intentional, the 
hitting was accidental. Every act is attended with several im- 
mediate results ; and as all of them are not necessarily in vjew 
of the agent at the time, those which do not enter distinctly 
into his purpose are ascribed to chance. They are caused by 
him, but not intended by him. A mechanic cannot fashion a 
machine, an artist cannot chisel out a statue, without leaving 
behind him a heap of chips, dust, and refuse matter. A chip 
is struck off at every blow ; but neither its shape, nor the po- 
sition in which it falls, is designed by the artisan, who is think- 
ing only of the work from which he has pared it away. But 
because we cannot discern either use or purpose in that heap 
of refuse matter, we are not to conclude that the finished 
machine or statue by the side of it is destitute of both. Ab- 
sence of purpose, then, may often be affirmed of the results 
of human labor ; but it can never be declared with certainty 



220 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

of the works of creation. Infinite wisdom leaves no residuum 
for chance, and that which is not subservient to one purpose 
may have been intended for another. If not useful to the or- 
ganism in which it is found, it may answer some higher object 
in the economy of creation. It may be a means, and intended 
as such, for the higher education of man, or for the attainment 
of moral as well as physical ends. 

The same remark is applicable for the explanation of another 
difficulty mentioned by Mr. Darwin. He objects, that " all 
the contrivances in nature are not, as far as we can judge, ab- 
solutely perfect, and some of them are even abhorrent to our 
ideas of fitness." And he cites, as instances, the sting of the bee 
causing the bee's own death, the hatred of the queen-bee for her 
own fertile daughters, and the ichneumonidas that feed within 
the bodies of live caterpillars. He might as well have adduced 
the existence of all the Carnivora, man himself included, to- 
gether with the frequent occurrence of pain and death. We are 
not wont to hear the old problem respecting the existence of evil 
alleged as an argument in favor of a novel speculation in zool- 
og}^. But when certain arrangements are declared to be imper- 
fect or unfit, we have a right to ask by what standard they have 
been tried. Perfect for what end ? Fit for what purpose ? If 
the only conceivable intention were to guard the life of every in- 
dividual bee, perhaps a more effectual means might have been 
discovered than that of furnishing it with any sting at all. 
Many insects exist in vast numbers that have no such weapon. 
Human knowledge, also, is so far from comprehending the 
whole plan of creation, and all the purposes of its Author, that 
it seems reasonable to admit the evidences of design where 
they are so obvious that they cannot be overlooked, and to re- 
fer all other cases to our limited means of observation and the 
imperfection of our faculties. The difficulty, moreover, may 
be retorted upon the advocates of the Development Theory. 
As Natural Selection preserves only the useful, and kills out 
all worthless and noxious Variations, how comes it to have left, 
in a weapon otherwise so perfect, this one fatal defect, that it 
cannot be once used without causing the death of its owner ? 

The necessities of his theory compel Mr. Darwin to main- 
tain that the most complex instincts, as well as the nicest adap- 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 221 

tations of structure, can have been produced only " by the slow 
and gradual accumulation of numerous slight, yet profitable, 
variations." But he has seemingly failed to observe that in- 
stinct and structure are nicely correlated to each other, and 
must be so correlated, or the animal would perish. Conse- 
quently, the variations of. structure and instinct must have been 
simultaneous and accurately adjusted to each other, as a modi- 
fication in the one, without an immediate corresponding change 
in the other, would have been fatal. He has also failed to re- 
member, that the highest and most complex instincts are gen- 
erally found in very low structural forms ; for instance, among 
bees, ants, and spiders, rather than among vertebrates, and in 
birds more than in mammals. The progress of improvement, 
then, in the two cases, cannot have been always by equal and 
corresponding steps ; for the development of instinct stopped 
long ago, while the organic structure has advanced from a spi- 
der's up to a man's. It is not a law of nature, then, that a 
change of the organism should always be accompanied by a 
change of instinct nicely adapted to it ; consequently, the De- 
velopment Theory can offer no explanation of the fact, that 
the organism must always have harmonized precisely with the 
instinct, while the latter was slowly perfected by innumerable 
variations. It is impossible that so nice a correspondence, 
maintained between the two during countless independent 
changes of each, should have been purely accidental or uninten- 
tional. 

Those who deny that there has been any special act of crea- 
tion since living forms first appeared upon the earth, are bound, 
of course, to account for the origin of the human species, just as 
much as for that of the lowest insect. Mr. Darwin confesses 
as much when he says that, after the general reception of his 
system, " psychology will be based on a new foundation, that 
of the necessary acquirement of each mental power and capac- 
ity by gradation. Light will be thrown upon the origin of man 
and his history." He is bound, therefore, to find the means 
of bridging over, by innumerable slight gradations, the im- 
mense gap which now separates man from the animals most 
nearly allied to him, — a gap not only between the two struct- 
ural forms, which, however dissimilar, may still be affirmed to 



222 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

be of the same kind, but between reason and instinct, where 
nearly all psychologists are agreed that the difference is in 
kind, and not merely in degree. As Sir C. Lyell remarks, 
" the sudden passage from an irrational to a rational animal is 
a phenomenon of a distinct kind from the passage from the 
more simple to the more perfect forms of animal organization 
and instinct." 

Here an obvious objection occurs, founded upon the compar- 
ative shortness of the time during which man has been a res- 
ident upon the earth. " Man," says Lyell, " must be regarded 
by the geologist as a creature of yesterday, not merely in refer- 
ence to the past history of the organic world, but also in rela- 
tion to that particular state of the animate creation of which 
he forms a part." Even the questionable evidence recently 
obtained from the discovery of flint knives and arrow-heads hi 
localities where their presence is difficult to be accounted for, 
does not enable us to ascribe to the human race a higher an- 
tiquity than that of the later post-Tertiary formations. Then 
the interval of time, within which far the broadest chasm which 
we have to contemplate in zoology is to be filled up by innu- 
merable transitional forms, is certainly the shortest which geol- 
ogy has revealed. As the most recent, also, it is one the history 
of which is most perfectly known. During this period, cer- 
tainly, it is in the highest degree improbable that innumerable 
species should have lived and died out without leaving behind 
them any trace of their existence. The few fossil monkeys 
that have been discovered are not so near approximations to 
the human form as several anthropoid species that are now 
living. How, then, can man have been developed during this 
short epoch, by the indefinitely slow process of Cumulative 
Variation and Natural Selection, out of a monkey ? and where 
are the countless extinct types that should mark the steps of 
his progress ? How many varieties must have existed as strict 
transitional forms to fill up this broad gap, — to say nothing of 
the greater, infinitely greater, number of variations which were 
not improvements, but which must also have appeared and 
died out under a liability to change having no direction or pur- 
pose but that of chance ! Geology can find no traces of them. 
The latest chapter of the Stone Book, which is far the best 



, 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 223 

preserved, and which ought to be nearly rilled with variations 
upon this single theme, does not record a single form interme- 
diate between man and the chimpanzee. 

Moreover, if reason has been developed out of instinct, 
these innumerable forms between the Quadrumana and the 
Bimana must have had an enormous advantage in the Struggle 
for Life over their less intelligent competitors, so that the total 
disappearance of their remains becomes still more inexplicable. 
Bones of their brute contemporaries, hyenas, bears, rhinoceroses, 
elephants, and even a few monkeys, are found by the cart-load 
in many localities. But a crowd of half-reasoning animals, 
developed out of orangs, chimpanzees, or gorillas, furnished 
with tools and weapons, and capable, if we may judge from 
their other semi-human attributes, of adapting themselves to a 
wide range of circumstances, and which ought, consequently, 
to have multiplied without stint, because they were sure to 
triumph over their brute rivals in every contest for the ground 
or for food, have yet perished so entirely, that not a vestige of 
their skeletons has been anywhere discovered. 

The doctrine that reason has been developed out of instinct, 
depends entirely upon the assumption that these two faculties 
differ from each other in degree only, and not in kind. If psy- 
chology is to be placed upon a new foundation, as Mr. Darwin 
assures us, "that of the necessary acquirement of each mental 
power and capacity by gradation" there must be a conceivable 
transition from instinct to reason through a number of steps, 
every one of which must be an improvement. Here we are at 
once met by the difficulty, that the power of instinct, in many 
cases, quite transcends that of reason ; if it differs from human 
intelligence in degree only, it is in these instances undoubtedly 
the superior. Man may go to school to the spider, the ant, the 
wasp, and the bee, but he can never equal his teacher. Com- 
pare the habitations, the nets, and other structures of these in- 
sects, with those of the lower savages, such as the Hottentots 
and the native Australians, and say which are the more artistic 
and the more nicely adapted to their purposes ; especially when 
we add the necessary qualification, that the insect works 
without any tools except those which are parts of its own body. 
Man has had bitter experience enough in the matters of gov 



224 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

ernment and social organization, and the wisdom of thirty 
centuries has been exhausted in pondering upon the several 
problems of social philosophy ; but he is still unable to form a 
society which, in point of orderly arrangement, harmony, and 
effective cooperation for the general good, even approaches the 
excellence of a hive of bees. Since the latest form of the De- 
velopment Theory allows no variation to be preserved and per- 
petuated, except it be an improvement, since Natural Selection 
inevitably kills out every change except it be for the better, 
how comes it that human reason has deteriorated in all these 
respects ever since it began to be built up from the narrow 
foundations of an insect's instinct ? It is no answer to say, that 
reason is still immeasurably the superior in the number, com- 
prehensiveness, and ductility of its endowments, and especially 
in those powers of adaptation and invention by which it is 
fitted for all emergencies. The question still remains, Why, if 
it has improved in so many respects, has it deteriorated in 
any? 

But the difficulty of accounting for the transmutation of 
instinct into reason becomes vastly greater, when it is remem- 
bered that a leading characteristic of the former is, that it ad- 
mits of no variation whatever, — that, as far as human obser- 
vation has extended, it is absolutely unchangeable, both in the 
individual and in the race. Instinct, it is true, has a certain 
degree of pliability, enough to provide for the ordinary and 
perpetually recurrent emergencies of the special occasion for 
which it was created. Otherwise, the faculty would very 
seldom answer its purpose, or be competent for its destined 
work. Thus, the spider which always fashions a regular po- 
lygonal web, as it can seldom or never find a nearly circular 
opening in which to suspend it, must be able to change the 
length and direction of the suspending threads, so as to hang 
the structure easily and economically in an opening of any 
shape, triangular, quadrangular, or altogether irregular, such 
as it may best find. But the absolute invariability of the in- 
stinct appears even here, in the fact that the web of this 
spider is always polygonal and curiously symmetrical, though 
so much contrivance is thereby needed to suspend it with 
proper stiffness ; and though a triangular web, such as is al- 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 225 

ways spun by an allied species, would remove all difficulty 
and answer every purpose. The range of this pliability, also, 
is always confined within very narrow limits. The instinct is 
invariably pliable to the same extent, and that a very limited 
one. Bees and wasps build cells very nearly on the same 
pattern, which is curiously elaborate and symmetrical ; they 
even change this pattern a little, so as to fit together the cells 
of different sizes which they need, or to hang securely the top- 
most or innermost row of cells to the top or side of their habi- 
tation ; always returning, however, to the typical form of the 
cell as soon as possible. Bees build invariably with wax, 
and wasps invariably with a paper-like substance, though an 
interchange of these materials would often be convenient, and 
a capacity of changing the material on an emergency would 
certainly conduce to the animal's preservation. 

A true variation, such as this Theory requires, would be the 
manifestation by an individual in the wild state, or undomes- 
ticated, of some feat, quality, or degree of instinct, however 
slight, totally unlike anything that had been manifested by its 
fellows. Of such variation the observations of naturalists have 
not afforded us a single instance. The architecture and inter- 
nal economy of a beehive or a wasps' nest, so far as known, 
marvellously complex and elaborate as they are, have not va- 
ried by a hair's breadth since the days of Aristotle. Bees have 
been carefully watched by man for over two thousand years ; 
they have been carried by him to a vast number of localities 
beyond those originally inhabited by this insect. The whole 
continent of America has been populated by the ordinary hive- 
bee from Europe. Thus the experiment, whether change of 
circumstances might not possibly induce variation, may be 
said to have been fairly tried. There are from 15,000 to 
20,000 bees in every healthy hive ; and the number of their 
hives, taking all parts of the world together, almost defies 
calculation. This enormous stock of them has to be renewed 
at short intervals, as the bee's life does not usually exceed a 
single year. And yet the typical bee cell, with all its mar- 
vellous symmetry and complexity, finished with the precision 
of a 100,000th part of an inch, has not changed the length of 
one of its lines since it first excited the astonishment of man. 

15 



226 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

With this known amount of invariability, how great is the 
time that would be requisite for developing the instinct of a 
bee into human reason ? 

But here it is necessary that instinct should be sharply dis- 
tinguished from some of the other powers with which it is 
generally accompanied. No one denies that the brutes have 
certain mental endowments in common with men. They have 
appetites, propensities, desires, affections, memory, simple im- 
agination, or the power of reproducing the sensible past in 
mental pictures, and even judgment of the simple or intuitive 
kind. They compare and judge, as when the dog or cat de- 
cides correctly what height or breadth it can safely jump, or 
how large an orifice must be to admit the passage of its body. 
But they cannot judge by inference, or through the interven- 
tion of a third term ; that is, they cannot reason. They can- 
not generalize their experience, and thus form premises from 
which many conclusions can be drawn. Their judgment, 
as intuitive, is always of the particular case presented to their 
senses, and never as an inference from a general rule. The 
only end which they can pursue, or even contemplate, apart 
from the guidance of instinct, is particular and immediate, 
dictated by the appetite or impulse of the moment. Hence, 
they cannot combine means for the attainment of a future or 
general object, and thus their modes of operation are never 
altered or improved. 

Instinct is the power given to compensate for these deficien- 
cies, which would otherwise be fatal to life or destructive of 
the species. It appears as a substitute for reason, not as a 
lower degree of it ; it answers the same purpose, but by totally 
different means. Instinct is the performance by an animal of 
some act (the construction of a nest or cell, or the laying of a 
stratagem for catching its prey) which man could not perform 
without intelligence or reason, properly so called ; that is, 
without experience or instruction, the observation of effects, 
the induction of a rule or law from them, and the consequent 
future choice and adaptation of means to ends. This act the 
animal demonstrably performs without either experience or 
instruction, but just as blindly as the bird tucks its head under 
its wing when going to sleep, without knowing why. The 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 227 

act does tend to some useful end, though the animal knows 
not of it. Foresight it has none, unless it be the foresight of 
a god rather than a man ; for human prescience is nothing 
but the reflection of the past upon the mirror of the future. 
Neither reason nor instinct supplies an object of endeavor, 
but only points out the means of attainment, the former re- 
lying exclusively upon experience, the latter appearing, at 
least to human observation, to be guided by inspiration. A 
blind propensity induces the duckling to take to water ; in- 
stinct teaches it how to swim. The migratory bird is urged 
by a vague impulse at the proper season to change its coun- 
try ; instinct turns its flight in the right direction. Surely it 
would be no improvement in either of these cases, no develop- 
ment of a higher faculty out of a lower one of the same kind, 
if reason were substituted for instinct, the tardy and uncertain 
teachings of experience for the instantaneous and unerring 
guidance of inspiration. That power or faculty, call it what 
we may, bears not the remotest semblance of human reason 
which teaches a wasp, born only after the death of its parents, 
to store up food of a kind which it never uses for itself, for 
the use of its young which it is never to see. Neither a pro- 
pensity nor an appetite is an instinct, though all three are 
equally blind. For man also has both propensities and ap- 
petites which need not the promptings of intellect, but are 
awakened before reason is born in him. Tastes, smells, and 
sounds are pleasant or odious to him as a matter of original 
constitution, and not because his reason tells him that these 
ought to be sought, and those to be avoided. 

This is not an arbitrary definition or limitation of the mean- 
ing of the word instinct ; for if, as Mr. Darwin says, human 
reason is to be developed out of the brute's endowments, be 
these what they may, — if man is the son of a monkey, and the 
grandson of a horse, and the remote descendant of an oyster, 
— then reason must grow out of something which has at least 
some characteristic of reason, or which does the work of rea- 
son ; and not from something which even now, in man, has no 
resemblance to intellect properly so called, and no dependence 
upon it, and which appears fully even in an idiot. Tell me 
that reason has been developed out of instinct as it has now 



228 THE LATEST FOKM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEOEY. 

been defined, and at least I know what you mean ; but to say- 
that it has been evolved from an appetite or a propensity, is 
as incomprehensible as to allege that an idea has been de- 
veloped out of a football. No conceivable variation of a foot- 
ball will approximate it to reason. Mr. Darwin's supposed 
cases of incipient, altered, or lost instincts are, at best, only 
instances of the development or disappearance of blind im- 
pulses or appetites, which relate only to the selection of ends 
to be obtained, and not to devising new means, or improving 
old ones, of obtaining them. He has not adduced one case of 
the variation of instinct properly so called. 

The only actions of man which seem to have any claim to 
be considered as instinctive, are those prompted by the feeling 
of modesty or shame. This feeling itself is not an instinct, 
any more than the emotions of pride, emulation, or anger. 
But the actions to which it points are not merely natural mani- 
festations of strong emotion, but are peculiar and definite, as 
if devised by reason for the attainment of a specific purpose. 
All the lower animals gratify each of their appetites, as nature 
prompts, without stint, and without any apparent desire of 
cover or concealment. Man alone gratifies one of them only 
with every precaution of secrecy, and carefully provides a cov- 
ering, not needed for the purposes of protection or warmth, 
for certain portions of the body. No tribe of savages has ever 
been discovered so rude and debased as to manifest complete 
indifference respecting such precautions and coverings. The 
adult females are always provided with some clothing, how- 
ever slight, the arrangement of which indicates the purpose for 
which it is worn ; and if, in a very few instances, adult males 
are found unprovided with similar coverings, there is rea- 
son to believe that extreme poverty, rather than indifference, 
is the cause of the neglect. The fact, that children under the 
age of puberty are often suffered to go entirely nude, also in- 
dicates the purpose of the covering. However slight the gar- 
ment may be, — a mere girdle with the natives of the South 
Pacific islands, or a narrow cloth around the loins, as with the 
savages of Central Africa, — travellers relate that it is guarded 
with much care and jealousy, and that the removal of it seems 
to cause as much pain and shame as would result from entire 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 229 

exposure among more civilized races. Reason and experience 
could not have indicated to savages the necessity or propriety 
of this slight covering; as no reason can be assigned for it, 
apart from the sacred instinct by which it is peremptorily en- 
joined. If this be an instinct, it is one which, unlike all other 
instincts, does not conduce to the preservation, — that is, to 
the physical safety, — either of the individual or of the race. 
Man might live in this respect as the brutes do, and live as 
long and as well. Call it instinct, propensity, or what we 
may, the only conceivable purpose for which it was implanted 
in man is a moral purpose, as a safeguard for the right devel- 
opment of his ethical nature. Hence it is, that the entire loss 
of it, which sometimes results from extreme profligacy, is 
shown by experience to be equivalent to utter moral degrada- 
tion. This view of the subject, it may be added, derives some 
weight from the allusion to it in the history of our first par- 
ents, whether that history be regarded as revelation or tradi- 
tion. Man has no instincts to keep guard over his physical 
well-being ; reason, enlightened by experience, and stimulated 
by affection, is abundantly sufficient for this end. But a moral 
instinct, indispensable for the preservation of the purity of his 
life, and thus auxiliary to conscience, is his never-failing en- 
dowment. 

Any form of the Development Theory rests ultimately upon 
the assumption, that the origin of species by a direct act of 
creation is inconceivable, or at best grossly improbable. Mr. 
Darwin, as already mentioned, speaks with wonder of those who 
are " no more startled at a miraculous act of creation than at 
an ordinary birth." And Professor Parsons, in a communica- 
tion upon the same subject to this Academy, declared that, 
whatever difficulties might impede the reception of the trans- 
mutation hypothesis, " I should accept them all unhesitatingly, 
rather than the notion that the first horse, or dog, or eagle, or 
whale flashed into being out of nothingness, or out of a mass 
of inorganic elements which had been drawn together in due 
proportion for that purpose." 

In opposition to this view, it is here maintained that a di- 
rect act of creation is no more inconceivable, and not incon- 
ceivable in any other sense, than an ordinary birth. It ex- 



230 THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 

cites more wonder, it is true ; but only because it is less 
frequent, or because it is believed to take place more abruptly. 
A new individual — a new being — is the result in either 
case ; but to assert that the beginning of this new existence is 
more explicable by ordinary generation than by direct crea- 
tion, is equivalent to saying, (if the folly and irreverence of 
the expression may be pardoned,) " that a horse should create 
a horse is conceivable ; but that God should create a horse is 
inconceivable." The beginning of all life is in a nucleated 
cell of microscopic size. The original formation of such a 
cell, and the subsequent enlargement or rather multiplication 
of it by the epigenesis of other similar cells, are distinct acts 
of creation properly so called, whether preceded or not by a 
generative union of the parents. That the generative act 
should be ordinarily followed by the vivification of such a cell, 
is a law of nature, which, like other natural laws, does not 
explain the phenomena, nor throw any light upon them, but 
merely describes and classifies them ; and if naturalists were 
once led to believe the union of two sexes to be a necessary or 
invariable antecedent of the vivification, the discovered fact 
of parthenogenesis has convinced them of their mistake. The 
first appearance, then, of this living cell, is an indubitable 
case of an organized individual at once " flashed into being," 
not indeed u out of nothingness," but " out of a mass of inor- 
ganic elements drawn together in due proportion for that pur- 
pose " ; and special or miraculous creation, which appears so 
incredible or inconceivable to the advocates of the Develop- 
ment Theory, is in fact constantly going on all around us. 
Whether we call it creation or ordinary generation, the proc- 
ess — the mode in which inorganic particles are suddenly 
bound together into an organic living whole — is wholly in- 
explicable. Science throws down her microscope before the 
process in despair. But inexplicable as it is, we are not able 
to deny that it is a law of nature which is perpetually verified 
before us. We cannot tell how a blade of grass grows ; but 
we do not therefore affirm that it does not grow. 

No one who understands the case will assert, that either the 
scale on which the phenomenon takes place, or the frequency 
of its repetition, or the length of time within which it is com- 



i 



THE LATEST FORM OF THE DEVELOPMENT THEORY. 231 

pleted, is a radically distinguishing circumstance which pre- 
vents us from identifying ordinary reproduction with direct 
creation. Frequent repetition, indeed, wears out wonder; but 
it does not make the process one whit more explicable than 
if it occurred only once in a millennium. One microscopic 
germ may be slowly developed into a giant pine, which may 
reckon its years by centuries : and another may give birth to 
an insect that completes its whole cycle of being in a single 
season. But science knows as little of the process in the one 
case as in the other, and justly classes them both under the 
same name of generative development. " If an animal or a 
vegetable," says Dugald Stewart, " were brought into being 
before our eyes in an instant of time, the event would not be in 
itself more wonderful than their slow growth to maturity from 
an embryo or from a seed. But on the former supposition, 
there is no man who would not perceive and acknowledge the 
immediate agency of an intelligent cause ; whereas, according 
to the actual order of things, the effect steals so insensibly on 
the observation, that it excites little or no curiosity, excepting 
in those who possess a sufficient degree of reflection to contrast 
the present state of the objects around them with their first 
origin, and with the progressive stages of their existence." 



DISEASES AND MALFORMATIONS NOT 
HEREDITABLE. 

FBOM THE PROCEEDINGS OP THE AMERICAN ACADEMY FOR JANUARY, 1861. 

There has been an increasing tendency of late years, par- 
ticularly among speculative philanthropists and naturalists, to 
lay great stress upon the supposed hereditability of peculiar 
and abnormal traits of bodily and mental organization, espe- 
cially of mental disease, and to insist more and more upon the 
certainty of their transmission by descent. It has even been 
proposed to prohibit by law the intermarriage of persons who 
have mental or bodily defects or diseases which might be 
transmitted to their offspring. And as to insanity, there is 
too much reason to fear that persons have been actually driven 
mad through the fear, which has been carefully inculcated upon 
them, of having inherited insanity. It will be admitted, that, 
if there is anything which can foster and rapidly develop some 
latent tendency towards mental disease, it is dreading, and 
brooding over the dread, of that great calamity, regarded as an 
inevitable event, which must sooner or later happen. In the 
opinion of many, crime and sin are no longer imputable to in- 
dividual men and women, but to what the lawyers call " the 
act of God," which entailed upon the offenders inevitably a 
wicked temper, a perverted will, or a diseased brain. The 
only proper name to be given to this doctrine is physiological 
fatalism. It rests upon a perversion of one of the darkest 
saying of the old Jewish Scripture, that the sins of the fathers 
shall be visited upon the children, even to the third and fourth 
generation ; — a seemingly harsh doctrine, though, in the 
meaning which was probably intended, it is certainly true ; 
and it is one which, at any rate, is not so terrific as that per- 
version of it, which teaches, that not merely the sins, but the 






DISEASES AND MALFORMATIONS NOT HEREDITABLE. 233 

congenital defects and diseases, implanted in us before birth, 
shall be visited upon our innocent offspring, not for two or 
three generations only, but for all future time. 

It appears to me that the assumed evidence upon which this 
theory rests is unscientific and unsatisfactory, and can be con- 
fronted by a great amount of testimony leading to an oppo- 
site conclusion. We may begin by admitting, or taking for 
granted, every fact which is commonly adduced in its support, 
— excluding, of course, such a statement of that fact as may 
involve any theory respecting its nature. Thus, it is a fact 
that insane persons can generally find among their ancestors, 
or their relatives in the ancestral line, one or more persons 
who also have been insane. The illogical, because hypothetical, 
statement of this fact is, that the former inherited their insanity 
from the latter. It is also a fact, that children often bear a 
certain measure of resemblance, in body, mind, or character, 
to their parents or grandparents; and the hypothetical state- 
ment of this fact is, that they have inherited these traits. 

Now, one of three suppositions must be true ; — either, 1. 
there is a law of nature that bodily and mental peculiarities 
shall always be transmitted by inheritance ; or, 2. there is a 
law that they shall not be so transmitted ; or, 3. there is no 
law about the matter, and it is mere accident whether parental 
or ancestral peculiarities reappear in the offspring or not. 
The physiological fatalists maintain the first of these supposi- 
tions ; my own belief is in favor of the second ; but as against 
the fatalists, it is enough to substantiate by satisfactory evi- 
dence the third. 

The mistake of those who favor the doctrine of hereditary 
descent arises from the common error, — an Idol of the Tribe, 
as Bacon calls it, — which consists in regarding only the 
affirmative cases; "and though there be a greater number and 
weight of instances to be found on the other side, yet these it 
either neglects and despises, or by some distinction sets aside 
and rejects." " Such is the way of all superstition," Bacon 
continues ; " but with far greater subtility does this mischief 
insinuate itself into philosophy and the sciences. It is the 
peculiar and perpetual error of the human intellect, to be more 
moved and excited by affirmatives than by negatives ; whereas, 



234 DISEASES AND MALFORMATIONS NOT HEREDITABLE. 

it ought properly to hold itself indifferently disposed towards 
both alike. Indeed, in the establishment of any true law of 
nature, the negative instance is the more forcible of the two." 
Dr. Johnson pithily described this popular fallacy, when he 
said, that the one dream which comes to pass is remembered 
and quoted, while the ninety and nine which do not come to 
pass are forgotten. Just so, one case of an insane child or 
grandchild, nephew or niece, of an insane person, is quoted as 
proof of the doctrine of hereditary transmission ; while the 
twenty other offspring of the same person, who never showed 
a trace of insanity, are forgotten. It is difficult to adduce evi- 
dence on this point ; for while it is comparatively easy to trace 
back the pedigree of a madman, and find insanity somewhere 
in his family, either in the direct or collateral line, since statis- 
tics prove that at least one out of a thousand in the whole 
community suffer more or less from this disease, — it is not so 
easy to trace the line forward, to lay bare the history of a 
whole family, and to prove that no one of them, at any time 
or in any degree, has suffered from insanity. Only in the case 
of a prominent historical family, where all the facts are on rec- 
ord, or are generally known, is such evidence attainable. 

Fortunately, there is one case of this sort that bears directly 
on the question. George III. may be said to have been con- 
stitutionally insane, the malady breaking out several times in 
the course of his life with great violence. In 1788, in 1801, 
and again in 1804, the disease appeared, each attack incapaci- 
ting him for the exercise of his royal functions for several 
months. In 1810, there was a fourth and final attack, the dis- 
ease then darkening into hopeless imbecility, and continuing 
for ten years, the remainder of his life. It is now stated, also, 
though the fact was not divulged in his lifetime, that he had an 
earlier attack, in 1764, when for some weeks he was under re- 
straint. But if we trace back his lineage for six generations, 
as far as James I. of England, not one of his ancestors can be 
found to have ever suffered from this complaint. Besides, he 
had seven brothers or sisters, and seven uncles or aunts ; and 
as several of these married and had families, he had a goodly 
number of cousins and of nephews or nieces. Yet it does not 
appear that one of these ever showed a trace of insanity. Evi- 



DISEASES AND MALFOKMATIONS NOT HEREDITABLE. 235 

dently, then, George III. did not inherit the disease. Did he 
transmit it ? Here the evidence is equally abundant and satis- 
factory. This insane king had fifteen children ; and as many 
of these had families, either legitimate or illegitimate by Eng- 
lish law, there was a crowd of grandchildren. The Duke of 
Clarence alone had, by Mrs. Jordan, ten children. A very 
hurried search will enable one to enumerate fifteen children, 
twenty-two grandchildren, and, including the children of the 
present Queen, eighteen great-grandchildren, — say, in all, 
fifty -five descendants. [At present, 1880, the number is in- 
creased at least to seventy-five or eighty.] Yet in this large 
number there does not seem to have been one undoubted case 
of insanity ; and as kings and princes live in glass houses, if 
there had been one such case, we should probably have heard 
of it. Not one undoubted case, we say ; for there is a doubt- 
ful one. The oldest of the Fitz Clarences, created Earl of 
Munster, committed suicide in 1842 ; and as he had shown 
great despondency for six weeks before his death, so that a 
physician was at last called in, a coroner's jury, if one had 
sat in his case, might have brought in a verdict of insanity; 
and the physiological fatalists, remembering his grandfather, 
would probably have called it a case of hereditary insanity, 
overlooking the fifty-four or seventy-four other descendants of 
George III., who have appeared as sane as other people. 

One such example as this of George III. appears conclusive 
against the doctrine of the necessary hereditary transmission of 
mental disease. We thus exorcise the terrific phantom which, 
as already said, has probably driven many persons mad. There 
is more than one prophecy, the mere announcement of which 
has caused its own fulfilment. But the case is not a solitary 
one. Observation among the families of my own acquaintance, 
always made on the principle of collecting the negative as well 
as the affirmative instances, have satisfied me, that the rule — 
that is, the law of nature — is against the hereditary transmis- 
sion. If there are apparent exceptions, the majority of the 
descendants manifesting the same disease as the parent or an- 
cestor, they are explicable through the action of sympathy, un- 
conscious imitation, or exaggerated fears proceeding from the 
cause just mentioned. Cases enough can be cited of the recur- 



236 DISEASES AND MALFORMATIONS NOT HEREDITABLE. 

rence of the phenomenon from such causes, wherein the per- 
sons concerned were not related by blood, so that inherited dis- 
ease was out of the question. 

Thus, up to 1839, there had not been, for sixty years, a case 
of suicide by precipitation from the top of the London Mon- 
ument. In that year, a young woman named Moyes threw 
herself off from it and was killed. Within three months, a 
boy only sixteen years old, whose previous conduct had shown 
nothing unusual, jumped off with the same result. To prevent 
another case, the keeper was required to accompany every per- 
son who ascended the stairs. But before the year was ended, 
another young woman, never before thought to be insane or 
to have any cause to wish for death, contrived to elude him 
by going to the other side of the balcony, where she also jumped 
off and was killed. Then, at last, the iron railing of the bal- 
cony was carried up and united to the stone-work above, mak- 
ing a sort of cage which had no exit except by the stairs. If 
these three suicides had been brothers and sisters, their case 
would have been put down as a strong instance of family in- 
sanity. Then may not the repetition of suicide, or other insane 
acts, by members of the same family be the result of this sym- 
pathetic propensity, or blind imitativeness, roused into keener 
action by the example being set near home, rather than the re- 
sult of inherited mental disease ? If so, how forcible is the les- 
son that we ought in every way to discourage and disprove this 
doctrine of the hereditability of insanity ! Other cases are not 
wanting. One was reported to the Paris Academy of Med- 
icine, that, a soldier at the H6tel des Invalides having hanged 
himself on a post, his example was soon followed by twelve 
other invalids, and only by removing the fatal post was the 
suicidal epidemic at last arrested. 

Thus far I have treated only of insanity. But the question 
is a broader one. Do any peculiarities of mental or bodily or- 
ganization, appearing for the first time in one generation, tend 
to perpetuate themselves by the law of hereditary descent ? 
Besides the specific traits, which every animal has in common 
with the species to which it belongs, it has also individual traits 
or peculiarities, always prominent enough to enable us easily to 
distinguish every individual from its fellows of the same kind, 



DISEASES AND MALFORMATIONS NOT HEREDITABLE. 237 

even if they are the offspring of the same parents, and some- 
times so strongly marked as to deserve the name of monstrosity 
or disease. Does natme tend to perpetuate or efface this dis- 
tinction between specific and individual traits ? The question 
is one of great importance and the highest generality, affect- 
ing the basis of zoological science. If this distinction is feebly 
marked and transitory, then there is no fixed system or plan 
in the animal kingdom, and nothing for science to do except 
to chronicle a succession of fleeting peculiarities and shifting 
boundaries. If, on the other hand, the distinction is broad and 
stable, if what Blumenbach calls the nisus formativus neces- 
sarily tends to perpetuate the species by restricting the law of 
hereditary transmission to the specific traits, and excluding it 
from the individual peculiarities, then the dominion of law, the 
unchangeable purposes of the Creator, extend alike over the 
inorganic and the organic kingdoms, and nature becomes one 
consistent, permanent, and intelligible whole. Undoubtedly 
apparent exceptions occur, through a complexity of circum- 
stances which science cannot always unravel. Sometimes a 
specific trait is wanting, and the result is a monstrosity, a lusus 
naturce ; but nature takes care to kill out such monsters, usually 
in the first generation. Sometimes an individual peculiarity 
of the parent, not so strongly marked as to deserve the name 
of a monstrosity, reappears in the offspring. But such cases 
are infrequent, exceptional, and, at the utmost, not continued 
beyond two or three generations. They are casual repetitions, 
such as are always possible in the perpetual shifting and shuf- 
fling of individual traits ; they are not the results of hereditary 
transmission. Otherwise, — if a law of nature favored the 
transmission, — all individual peculiarities would successively 
disappear, being merged in specific traits, and each new birth 
would present successively a more perfect copy of its parent, 
until at last, all differences being effaced, individuals of the 
same species could no more be distinguished from each other, 
than a heap of silver coins freshly struck from the same die at 
the mint. But God's creative processes are not thus mechan- 
ical ; infinite variety, no less than perfect order, is a law of 
nature. 

The first argument, then, against the doctrine of hereditary 



238 DISEASES AND MALFOKMATIONS NOT HEEEDITABLE. 

resemblance, is founded on this admitted fact of the marvellous 
variety in nature. Among millions of human faces, no two 
can be found so nearly alike as to be mistaken one for another. 
The dividing line is strongly marked and permanent between 
the personal or individual traits that are thus infinitely varied, 
and the specific traits which are reproduced with great, but 
not absolute, uniformity. The most striking proof that there 
is a law of nature prohibiting the repetition of abnormal forms 
is found in the fact, that, as the most fertile source of such 
forms is from the crossing of distinct races, nature invariably 
makes the product of such crosses more or less sterile or short- 
lived. 

How came it, then, ever to be supposed, that nature favors 
the hereditary transmission of personal traits of mind, character, 
and external form? From the popular fallacy, already exposed, 
which leads the observer to fasten upon the few affirmative, to 
the exclusion of a crowd of negative, instances. The different 
features of mind and body are very numerous, and every one 
of them may show likeness or unlikeness with the correspond- 
ing feature in the parent. Analyze any case of supposed 
strong resemblance, and it will be found to consist in one or 
two features only, to the exclusion of six or eight others, 
which are wholly unlike those of the parent. Thus, a strongly 
marked nose, together with eyes of a peculiar shape and hue, 
are enough to make out what is called a marked case of 
family likeness ; though mouth, chin, forehead, complexion, 
hair, outline of the face, and shape of the head may be as un- 
like as if they belonged to a stranger by blood ; and though 
even eyes and nose of the same pattern may be found, almost 
as often as we choose to look for them, among the community 
at large. Again, as likeness to a grandparent is held to prove 
hereditary transmission just as much as likeness to the im- 
mediate parent, and as everybody has at least two parents and 
four grandparents, there is no cause for wonder, if, among 
these six progenitors within two generations, a counterpart 
should be found for every feature of the offspring, though acci- 
dent, and not inheritance, formed the law of distribution. 
For, excluding malformation, there are not more than half a 
dozen varieties of each feature which are strongly marked 



DISEASES AND MALFORMATIONS NOT HEREDITABLE. 239 

enough to constitute a ground of likeness. Thus, a nose 
peculiar enough to be a recognized point of likeness, and yet 
not deformed, must be decidedly either aquiline, Roman, Gre- 
cian, flat, pug, or a nez retrousse. Here are but six possible 
forms, and, according to the law of chances, we might ex- 
pect to find a counterpart for any one of them among the six 
progenitors. It is because resemblance between parent and 
offspring is found much less frequently than, according to these 
considerations, we should have a right to expect it, even if the 
forms were distributed at random, or without any law at all, 
that we are led to believe the law of nature, if there be one in 
the case, favors unlikeness rather than resemblance ; or that 
Nature takes care to vary her work, as she certainly does with 
the leaves of the same oak-tree, among which you may hunt 
for hours without finding two whose indented outlines are at 
all similar. 

But supposed family likeness more frequently consists in the 
general expression of the countenance, in which respect a large 
family often bear a marked resemblance to each other, while 
their features, taken separately, are wholly unlike. This 
similarity of expression, however, is not congenital, but is 
gradually superinduced upon Nature's work, through living to- 
gether a long while in sympathy and confidence, under similar 
influences and education, whereby, as is often remarked, hus- 
band and wife, after a long life of matrimony, come to re- 
semble each other. And if this is the case even with adults, 
who come together only after age has given rigidity to the 
face and stereotyped its expression, how much more readily 
will the plastic features of infancy and childhood yield to 
similar influences and adopt the family pattern. Hence it is, 
that this likeness of expression generally cannot be seen in 
early infancy, and appears very faintly at first, but deepens 
and strengthens as the child advances in years. Through the 
same cause, also, the handwriting of the different members of 
the same family is often strikingly similar, though they may 
have learned how to write from different teachers ; and proba- 
bly no one will maintain handwriting to be hereditary. 

All that has been said of the external features is applicable, 
also, mutatis mutandis, to traits of mind and character. The 



240 DISEASES AND MALFORMATIONS NOT HEREDITABLE. 

hereditary transmission of the latter is even less probable than 
of the former, on account of the acknowledged almost im- 
measurable diversity of mental traits, and because the few- 
points of similarity can be more probably referred to the in- 
fluence of education, imitation, involuntary sympathy, and 
other like bonds which draw together and assimilate parent 
and child, however originally unlike. But in spite of these 
causes, all tending to create ultimate resemblance, we still find 
genius and stupidity, temper, affection, and taste so very un- 
equally and capriciously distributed among members of the 
same family, that the diversities can be attributed only to 
nature's own ordinance established for this very purpose. 
Analyze any case presented as evidence of the opposite theory, 
and we see more plainly than ever the error of laying stress 
upon the affirmative points, while the negative instances are 
overlooked or forgotten. 

Mr. George Combe cites an author who attributes the fa- 
tality which attended the House of Stuart "to a certain ob- 
stinacy of temper, which appears to have been hereditary and 
inherent in all the Stuarts except Charles II." But this per- 
verse wilfulness seems more probably attributable to the educa- 
tion received, every Stuart being trained by a Stuart, and by 
an Anglican clergy then fanatically attached to the dogmas of 
the divine right of kings, and the subject's duty of passive 
obedience. Charles II. had his training in the hard school of 
adversity and exile, where he became more pliant. But how 
many other points of resemblance can be found in the succes- 
sion of Stuart kings ? Compare the first of them who sat on 
an English throne, the slobbering, pedantic, cowardly, fondling 
James I., with his grave, decorous, and melancholy son, 
treacherous as a prince, but rigidly moral as a man, and dying 
at last the death of a martyr and a saint. Or compare this 
martyr-king with his good-for-nothing though good-natured 
son, Charles II., or the latter with his brother, the stupid and 
cruel bigot, James II. Only in " the good Queen Anne," as 
she was sometimes called, weak and prejudiced, but motherly 
and fondling, and much under the influence of favorites, do 
we find a reproduction of some characteristic traits of her 
great-grandfather, James I. Take any other line of European 



DISEASES AND MALFORMATIONS NOT HEREDITABLY. 241 

kings, and as great diversities of character and ability may be 
found among them as among the Stuarts. On the whole, the 
doctrine of the hereditary transmission of mind and character 
may be said to be contradicted by all history, as well as by 
every day's experience. 

16 



THE PSYCHICAL EFFECTS OF ETHERIZATION. 

PROM THE SPECTATOR, LONDON, DECEMBER 27, 1873. 

On October 5, 1872, having to undergo a surgical operation, 
I was narcotized with sulphuric ether. The chief purpose in 
subjecting myself to this treatment was, of course, to escape 
pain ; but I also wished to observe as accurately as possible the 
psychological results of the experiment, and especially to en- 
deavor to remember which of the mental faculties was sus- 
pended, in what order the successive interruptions of their nor- 
mal action took place, and what was my state of consciousness 
while some, but not all, of the mental powers were thus para- 
lyzed. Of course, I did not expect to observe and remember all 
that passed in my mind during the trance, as the narcotic ac- 
tion would certainly impair memory, and during a portion of 
the time might destroy it altogether, though this did not seem 
probable. But by fixing firmly in the mind, the moment the 
operation began, this purpose to observe, and by recalling it 
as soon as possible after the partial or entire restoration of con- 
sciousness, there was a good chance that some interesting re- 
sults might be noticed and chronicled. I informed the oper- 
ator beforehand of my intention, and requested him to take 
good care that enough ether should be administered to produce 
complete anesthesia. Also, as it is usual to apply the ether 
slowly at first, bringing the sponge gradually close to the nos- 
trils, there was no doubt that at least the initiatory stages of 
the experiment could be remembered. 

Soon after the inhalation commenced, my sight became im- 
paired. Clouds of white vapor seemed to roll before my eyes, 
and rapidly to come nearer and thicken, till I could no longer 
see any object or color whatsoever. But neither then, nor aft- 
erwards, was there any sensation of blackness or darkness ; it 



THE PSYCHICAL EFFECTS OF ETHERIZATION. 243 

seemed all the while as if I was in the centre of a very luminous 
white cloud, no outlines being apparent in it, and no estimate 
being formed whether it was near or remote, although there 
was an indistinct impression of wreaths or folds of it rolling 
over each other, or of the whole mass slowly gyrating round a 
centre. Next, there seemed to be a light, whirring sound in 
my ears, which, when it became continuous, made me suppose 
that I was already deaf; but in this it soon appeared that I 
was mistaken, as the sense of hearing was not entirely lost till 
two or three moments afterwards. At about the same time, I 
ceased either to taste or smell the ether, and the process of in- 
haling it, which at first produced a choking sensation, became 
easy and natural. Wishing to preserve consciousness after 
sensation had ceased, and finding it difficult or impossible to 
speak, I swung my arm round so as to touch the operator, as a 
hint to him to take away the sponge. He did not heed me, 
and I repeated the signal. Then he spoke in reply, but 
though close to me, I could not distinguish a word that he said, 
his voice sounding hollow and inarticulate, as if coming from a 
great distance. This proved, however, that the senses of touch 
and hearing were not yet entirely benumbed, for I had a faint 
sensation not only from his voice, but also from my hand strik- 
ing his knee. A moment later, however, I ceased to have any 
feeling whatever ; for then, as I afterwards learned, began a 
series of cuts, pulls, and wrenches, lasting about three minutes, 
which, if my nerves had been in their ordinary state, would 
have occasioned exquisite pain. But I was entirely unconscious 
of them, and did not even know that the hand or the instru- 
ments of the operator touched me. I forgot even where I was, 
what occasion had brought me there, and what had been done 
to me. In short, memory had entirely gone ; but all the while I 
was perfectly conscious, not only of my own existence, but that 
I was in some abnormal state, into which I had been brought 
by my own act, or at any rate with my own free consent. It 
seemed that something fearful had happened, — that I had 
passed into another state of existence, and its doors had irrev- 
ocably closed behind me. Not terror, but a deep feeling of awe 
and regret came upon me, — regret that I had allowed myself to 
cross some boundary line into another world, from which there 



244 THE PSYCHICAL EFFECTS OF ETHERIZATION. 

was no return. My mind, far from being inactive, seemed to 
be in a state of the utmost tension of its powers of thought and 
feeling. I was conscious even of the lapse of time, and it 
seemed as if years passed while I was thus reflecting upon 
the consequences of my own act in passing out of some former 
life, of which, however, I had no distinct remembrance. The 
thought of making any physical exertion to break the spell 
never occurred to me ; for, indeed, I had forgotten that I had a 
body. Neither did I make any mental effort either to change 
the course of thought to some other topic, or to repress the vivid 
emotions which affected me so strongly. Indeed, volition as well 
as memory seemed to have departed. I was conscious only of 
self, — that is, of my own being, — of quick, but passive or in- 
voluntary thought, and of deep feeling. This extreme tension 
of the mental faculties tends to explain what would otherwise 
be unaccountable, — why I should afterwards remember per- 
fectly what were my thoughts and feelings while in the trance, 
though, during the dream itself, I had no recollection of the cir- 
cumstances which preceded it and caused its occurrence. The 
process of waking again into full life was not gradual, but in- 
stantaneous. At once the scales seemed to fall from my eyes 
and memory, and I heard the operator giving me some direc- 
tions concerning the flow of blood. I immediately remarked 
to him, " Doctor, I have passed years in this unnatural state." 
He laughed as he showed me his watch, which proved that I 
had been under the influence of ether about five minutes. 

The following is a summary of the conclusions which I think 
may be drawn from this experiment : — 

1. When the anaesthetic trance is coming on, the sense of 
sight is the first to leave us ; next, the senses of taste and smell 
depart ; and lastly, those of hearing and touch. 

2. Along with the paralysis of the last of these special 
senses, we lose also what may be called the general or or- 
ganic sense, diffused through the whole body, through which 
we are made conscious of heat and cold, of affections of the 
oesophagus and alimentary canal, of muscular fatigue, of the 
pressure of our own weight on the feet or the sitting part of 
the body, and of the lesion of any portion of the animal frame. 

3. As soon as the senses are entirely benumbed, there is a 



THE PSYCHICAL EFFECTS OF ETHEKIZATION. 245 

total loss of memory ; and at the same time, as it seemed to 
me, the power of volition also departs, and we cease to will. 

4. The loss of all these faculties is so far from depriving us 
either of self-consciousness, or of the rapid succession of invol- 
untary thought, or of the capacity of strong emotion, that I 
think these are stimulated into unusually intense action. 

5. Ordinary sleep differs from the anaesthetic trance in at 
least one important respect. In the former, sensation is not 
suspended, but is only more or less benumbed. Many sleepers 
awake when there is the slightest noise in the room, or even 
from a light touch of the hand. Others are roused with more 
difficulty, but even these will generally make a slight move- 
ment to avoid irritation or tickling of some part of the body. 
Many are wakened even by the hum or a bite of a mosquito. 
Sleepers even distinguish the character of different sounds, as 
an unusual though comparatively slight noise will instantly 
awaken them, though their slumbers are undisturbed by much 
louder sounds which they are accustomed to hear every night. 
Again, the dreams of the sleeper usually evince some recollec- 
tion of familiar persons, places, and objects, so that there is no 
total loss of memory. In our dreams, also, we even will to 
make some effort to avoid an imagined danger, though such 
volition does not usually succeed in moving the limbs. 

6. Neither does anaesthesia resemble a swoon. Twice in the 
course of my life I have fainted entirely away, and each time, 
as I distinctly remember, there was a complete loss of con- 
sciousness. A sufficient dose of alcohol taken into the stomach 
may produce the same effects as inhaling ether ; for I suppose 
a person who is what is commonly called dead-drunk neither 
feels, hears, nor remembers. But I have no evidence to offer 
on this point, as I do not remember ever having tried the ex- 
periment. 

7. The living, of course, can never know what immediate ef- 
fect is produced on the mind by sudden death. But the pa- 
ralysis of the faculties of sensation, memory, and volition dur- 
ing the anaesthetic trance seems to be as perfect, for the time, as 
any which could be produced by the stroke of the axe when a 
person is guillotined. Yet the experiment now detailed seems 
to prove that, after these three faculties are thus entirely par- 



246 THE PSYCHICAL EFFECTS OF ETHERIZATION. 

alyzed, self-consciousness and the capacity for contemplative 
thought and strong emotion may not only remain unimpaired, 
but may even be roused to unusual activity. This capacity, 
moreover, seems to depend upon the brain alone, for it con- 
tinues unaffected when, in consequence of some injury to the 
upper part of the spine, the whole sensitive organism below 
the neck is completely paralyzed. Then it appears not only 
possible, but extremely probable, that self-consciousness may 
remain, at least for a considerable time, (since the ansesthetic 
trance can be indefinitely prolonged,) after the head has been 
severed from the body. I do not see why it should not con- 
tinue even after the brain has decayed, and been reduced to 
its constituent chemical elements; for although during this 
life some molecular change in the brain, some " burning of 
phosphorus " there, may be the invariable concomitant of any 
exercise of mind, there is not the shadow of a reason for affirm- 
ing this concomitant to be the cause, rather than the conse- 
quent, of the mental activity. The probabilities are all the 
other way ; for there are surely more striking cases of the 
action of the mind on the body, than of the body on the mind. 
Our volitions control our movements ; our thick-coming fan- 
cies, even when no visible or tangible objects are present to 
sense, impede the respiration and quicken the pulse ; our emo- 
tions command our blushes and our tears. In such cases, there 
can be no doubt which is cause, and which is effect ; mind un- 
mistakably asserts its supremacy. There are also instances 
enough on record to prove the possibility of the complete res- 
toration of memory, after it has been, even for a long time, en- 
tirely paralyzed. 

I may be permitted to add that the essential portions of 
this account were written out very soon after the experiment 
described took place, and that extreme caution was used in 
drawing it up to avoid exaggeration or any form of misstate- 
ment. 



BUCKLE'S HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION. 

FROM THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW FOR OCTOBER, 1861. 

Me. Buckle belongs to a peculiar class of English thinkers, 
— the Philosophical Radicals, as they have been called — some 
of whom have become distinguished in every generation for 
the last two centuries. Their great leader and prototype, who 
may be regarded as the founder of the school and the most 
original genius that has adorned it, was the philosopher of 
Malmesbury, Thomas Hobbes. His successors have adopted 
most of his opinions, because they inherited from him the pe- 
culiar traits of character in which those opinions had their 
origin. Obstinate, dogmatic, hard-headed, and impassive, they 
have manifested few qualities of heart or intellect which could 
win affection or sympatic ; and it is perhaps a stronger re- 
proach, that they have never felt the want of either. The 
nature of their speculations has been determined by peculiari- 
ties of temperament and disposition, more than by qualities of 
intellect. Cold in feeling, and averse to every manifestation 
of enthusiasm, they have uniformly adopted low and degrading 
views of human nature, and prided themselves on running 
counter to the opinions and shocking some of the dearest 
sentiments of their fellow-men. We lose the best safeguards 
of sound judgment, when the errors of the head are no longer 
checked by the warm impulses of the heart. In theorizing 
upon human conduct, some of the most important data are left 
out of the account if men are regarded only as thinking ma- 
chines, as uniformly selfish in their aims, and as guided only by 
a blind destiny to the accomplishment of results which they had 
never contemplated. The pride of individual intellect is not 
at all averse to such humiliating estimates of human nature in 
general. He who is fond of speculating upon the errors and 



248 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

weaknesses of his species makes an unconscious exception of 
his own case, and prides himself on the perspicacity which de- 
tects the causes of self-delusion in others. Mackintosh, speak- 
ing of Hobbes, remarks, that " it might seem incredible, if 
it were not established by the experience of all ages, that those 
who differ most from the opinions of their fellow-men are most 
confident of the truth of their own. It commonly requires an 
overweening conceit of the superiority of a man's own judg- 
ment, to make him espouse very singular notions ; and when 
he has once embraced them, they are endeared to him by the 
hostility of those whom he contemns as the prejudiced vul- 
gar." 

We do not undervalue the abilities of the leaders of this 
school, or deny that they have analyzed successfully some of 
the complex phenomena of mind, and made many important 
contributions to the philosophy of history and society. Hobbes 
himself is a striking example of a great intellect warped, but 
not dwarfed, by a perverse temper. Even Mr. Buckle has 
much of the genius for system which extends a few principles 
over a vast field of inquiry, unites the contributions of many 
sciences, and establishes a deceptive appearance of unity and 
method where we had looked only for iucongruity and con- 
fusion. But his learning is multifarious and extensive, rather 
than exact or profound ; he passes with great leaps over the 
difficult portions of his subject, and discards or mutilates the 
facts which do not suit his purpose, or will not fit into his 
theory. Arrogance is fed by imperfect knowledge ; and one 
who is a smatterer in many sciences, without a perfect knowl- 
edge of any, often settles magisterially questions which still 
perplex and confound modest and competent inquirers. Mr. 
Buckle is not a great scholar, like Mr. Grote, nor has he the 
varied attainments, and the genius for bold but judicious spec- 
ulation, which distinguish Mr. Mill. The very title of his 
work indicates rather overweening confidence in his own 
powers, than a clear understanding of the nature of his sub- 
ject, or a definite purpose as to the end to be attained. The 
self-styled historian of civilization has not yet indicated what 
it is that constitutes civilization, or wherein a history of it dif- 
fers from any other branch of historical disquisition. With 



buckle's histoky of civilization. 249 

this imperfect conception of the nature of his undertaking, it 
is not surprising that he has already filled two thick volumes 
before reaching the threshold of his proper subject, and has 
even been driven to a frank confession that his original plan 
was too extensive, and that its execution consequently is im- 
possible. 

In truth, the title of the work, as far as it has proceeded, is 
a misnomer. It is not a history of civilization or of anything 
else, but the statement of a system of doctrine, borrowed in 
great part from the Positive Philosophy of Comte, and sup- 
ported by a series of illustrations drawn at random from the 
history of all nations and all ages, and from the records of 
literature and science. Hence the work is eminently discur- 
sive and ill-digested, and might be prosecuted through a dozen 
more thick volumes, filled with the fruits of the author's des- 
ultory reading, but having no more connection with the 
history of England than with that of China, and affording 
not even a glimpse of the writer's theory respecting the nat- 
ure of civilization. In point of mere style, the merits of the 
book are considerable, and even the rambling and desultory 
nature of its contents is a source of attractiveness and power. 
The language is clear, animated, and forcible, sometimes ris- 
ing very nearly to eloquence, and marked with the earnestness 
of one who thoroughly believes the doctrine which he ex- 
pounds. Even the cool dogmatism of Mr. Buckle's assertions, 
and his entire confidence in the truth of his opinions and the 
force of his arguments, are often as amusing as they are un- 
reasonable. One who has no doubts to express, and no quali- 
fications or exceptions to state, has a great advantage in point 
of liveliness of manner. Like his great master, Hobbes, he 
betrays a good deal of egotism also, a quality which adds much 
to the freshness and raciness of his style. 

We have already intimated that there is no novelty in Mr. 
Buckle's doctrines, however new may be his manner of stat- 
ing and defending them. He is simply a necessitarian and a 
sceptic ; and he shows all the earnestness of a fanatic in 
preaching the gospel of fatalism and unbelief. In his view, 
man is a plant that grows and thinks, the form and place of 
his growth, and the products of his thought, being as little 



250 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

dependent on his will or effort as the bark, leaves, and fruit 
of a tree are on its own choice. All alike are subject to the 
" skyey influences." Food, soil, climate, — these make up 
the man, and determine what he must be. They make up 
the whole man, — not merely his animal frame, but his life 
and soul, if he has any. If these are rich and generous, so will 
be the man, and his thoughts and actions. His moral nature 
is nothing ; it has no lasting effect upon his character or con- 
duct. And his spiritual nature is a mere fiction. The laws 
of matter and the laws of intellect, — these govern all, and 
shape our nature and destiny. And these laws are as perma- 
nent and uncontrollable as the laws of gravitation and chem- 
ical affinity. If we knew them perfectly, we could tell what 
the past must have been, and what the future will inevitably 
be ; we could " look into the seeds of time, and see which 
grain would grow, and which would not." And we can learn 
them ; from the statistics of what has been, we can prophesy 
what will be. As with individuals, so with communities and 
nations. These are but aggregates of individuals, and their 
history, also, is shaped by irreversible laws ; and the system 
of averages, which eliminates small disturbing forces and ab- 
normal instances, enables us to predict the result with greater 
ease and certainty in the case of these aggregates than in that 
of individuals. The history of human beings, the history of 
civilization, is like that of the solar and starry systems. When 
a Kepler, a Newton, and a Laplace shall arise to reduce the 
complexity of the observed and tabulated results to order, we 
shall see that all is subject to law ; and knowing the law, we 
shall know all. 

Evidently this is a sketch of a system of philosophy, and 
not a project of writing history. At the very beginning, Mr. 
Buckle has a theory to set forth, and a doctrine to establish ; 
and he ransacks all history, literature, and science for proofs 
and illustrations of his preconceived opinion. Herein he vio- 
lates the first principles of his own method ; for he is a fanat- 
ical adherent of the Baconian system, and attributes most of 
the errors that have been committed in philosophy and sci- 
ence to the use of the deductive method, whereby reasoners 
assumed the maxims which they ought to have proved, and 



251 

proceeded from generals to particulars, not allowing "either 
themselves or others to sift the general propositions which 
were to cover and control the particular facts." Even Adam 
Smith's great work, the " Wealth of Nations," which appears 
to most observers a very noble edifice, built up on the induc- 
tive system from a vast collection of facts, seems faulty to Mr. 
Buckle, as consisting too much of maxims previously assumed 
and evidence subsequently discovered, a great body of deriva- 
tive principles being worked out in it by pure reasoning. Mr. 
Hume, also, both as a metaphysican and a historian, is gravely 
censured for proceeding in the inverse order from laws to facts, 
and reasoning deductively from preconceived doctrines. To 
the error thus committed by these two great philosophers, an 
error in which they were followed by all their Scotch con- 
temporaries, Mr. Buckle attributes the narrow and enslaved 
condition of the human mind in Scotland, where, for three 
centuries, it has remained a prey to superstition and religious 
persecution, the bigotry and blind asceticism of the Kirk sti- 
fling all freedom of thought and action, and compelling the 
people to attribute events to supernatural causes, instead of 
tracing them to the immutable action of physical laws. Super- 
stition and spiritual tyranny rest upon arbitrary assumptions 
and the deductive method ; while physical science in general, 
and especially the science of history, find their advancement 
only in scepticism, the collection of facts, and the application 
of the principles of the inductive philosophy. Mr. Buckle 
professes to act upon these principles with the utmost rigor 
and precision ; and he begins with an elaborate statement of 
the truths which his whole subsequent history is to prove. 

The first of these assumptions, upon which the whole phi- 
losophy of history is here made to rest, is the doctrine of Fatal- 
ism, or the necessity which governs all human actions, so that, 
when all the circumstances are known, the result can be told 
beforehand with as much certainty as we now predict the oc- 
currence of an eclipse. We call this doctrine an assumption ; 
for it is made in opposition to the clearest and most abundant 
evidence. It is a fact attested by the consciousness of every 
human being, whether learned or unlearned, and at every hour 
of his existence, that, when two courses of action are presented 



252 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

to him, he is free to choose between them, and therefore has 
only himself to approve or blame for the consequences of that 
choice. In practice, this great truth is always acknowledged 
and acted upon, however the metaphysician may pretend to 
question it in his abstract speculation. Hence we all feel self- 
reproach or self-gratulation, after the consequences of our con- 
duct have become manifest, because we know that we might 
have acted differently. It matters not that we cannot explain 
how man is free ; so neither can we tell how gravitation binds 
the earth to its orbit, or brings back to the ground a stone 
that has been thrown into the air. The first principle of the 
Positive Philosophy requires us to accept the facts as we find 
them, whether they are susceptible of explanation or not. And 
the fact of human freedom is as undeniable as any phenomenon 
in the physical world, for it rests upon the clear and dogmatic 
assertion of consciousness. 

Mr. Buckle attempts to impeach the credibility of this testi- 
mony, on the ground, first, that many philosophers have de- 
nied, and justly too, that there is any independent or special 
faculty of consciousness, asserting that what bears that name 
is merely a general state or condition of mind. But the objec- 
tion only shows that he is incapable of understanding the doc- 
trine that he cites, and that his acquaintance with psychology 
is extremely superficial. Sir William Hamilton censures Reid 
for degrading consciousness into a special faculty, rightly 
maintaining that it is an attribute of all our faculties, — a 
general condition of the whole intellect. We cannot know, 
without knowing that we know ; we cannot feel, without 
knowing that we feel ; we cannot will, without knowing that 
we will; and this self-recognition, this knowledge that the 
mind possesses of its own phenomena, whereby we discrimi- 
nate our own mental states and appropriate them as our own, 
is what we call consciousness. We degrade the authority of 
consciousness, then, when we reduce it to a special faculty ; we 
exalt it, when we affirm that it is a universal condition of in- 
telligence, an indispensable prerequisite of all knowledge. 
We cannot even doubt or deny, unless we are conscious that 
we doubt or deny ; so that the sceptic, when he impeaches the 
testimony of consciousness, becomes a felo de se. 



buckle's history of civilization. 253 

" Waiving this objection," however, proceeds Mr. Buckle, 
" we may, in the second place, reply, that even if conscious- 
ness is a faculty, we have the testimony of all history to prove 
that it is extremely fallible." And he proceeds to cite the 
changes of opinion, the various creeds, the different standards 
of truth, that have characterized different countries and ages, 
as instances of this fallibility^. We are sorry to reply, that 
this objection betrays even greater ignorance than the former 
one. Consciousness does not affirm the validity, the truthful- 
ness, of a judgment or opinion, but only the existence of that 
judgment as a present phenomenon of mind. Hence we are 
just as conscious of a wrong opinion as of a right one ; or, 
rather, we are conscious only of the belief itself, leaving it for 
subsequent inquiry and reflection to determine whether it is 
well or ill founded. We could make no progress in knowl- 
edge, we could never uproot old errors, if consciousness had 
not rightly informed us that we once entertained those errors. 
Mr. Buckle proceeds to ask, with great simplicity, " Are we 
not in certain circumstances conscious of the existence of 
spectres and phantoms," though it is "generally admitted that 
such beings have no existence at all ? " Certainly not, we 
answer. We are conscious only of seeing indistinctly some 
white object in an imperfect light, and of believing it at the 
moment to be a spectre. And consciousness was right, as it 
always is ; we did see the object, and we did believe it to be 
a spectre : but examination a moment afterwards proved that 
the belief was wrong, for the supposed spectre was only an old 
white horse grazing in a churchyard. It is humiliating to be 
forced to explain so simple a distinction to any one but a 
school-boy. Mr. Buckle would lay the blame upon conscious- 
ness, if he should take a counterfeit coin, believing it to be a 
good one. Even a school-boy would tell him in that case, 
that not his consciousness, but his eyes and his judgment, 
were at fault. 

The leading idea of Mr. Buckle's book, " the magnificent 
idea," as he calls it, is, " that everything which occurs is reg- 
ulated by law, and that confusion and disorder are impos- 
sible." In the application of this idea to the course of human 
affairs, and especially to the human will, all that he expects 



254 THE PHILOSOPHICAL KADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

us to concede is, " that, when we perform an action, we per- 
form it in consequence of some motive or motives ; that those 
motives are the results of some antecedents ; " and conse- 
quently, if we knew all the antecedents, and their mode or 
law of action, we could unerringly predict all that will follow. 
He subsequently defines free will to be " a cause of action re- 
siding in the mind, and exerting itself independently of mo- 
tives." 

Here the whole gist of the doctrine and of the argument de- 
pends upon the words which we have italicized. Certainly no 
competent advocate of the freedom of volition will maintain 
that the determination of the will is " independent of " mo- 
tives, in the sense of being made entirely without reference to 
them, just as if no motives existed. If it were so, then indeed 
human action would be wholly inconsequent and capricious, 
and man would be cursed with a freedom which he could not 
exercise except by resigning all the higher attributes of his 
nature. His freedom would be mere license, — the caprice of 
an irrational being, to whom no one course of action appears 
better than another. But it is not so ; man is not only a free 
being, but a rational being ; capable of preferences, and hav- 
ing a sense of right and wrong ; endued with judgment and 
foresight. Because he is reasonable, his actions can generally 
be predicted by one who has a fair knowledge of his character 
and the special circumstances of the case ; because he is free, 
he not infrequently breaks away from his former courses, re- 
nounces old habits, gives the lie to former resolutions, and 
acts even from a caprice or a whim. His circumstances have 
not changed, but he has changed. His former action had been 
" in consequence of " some leading motive, yet not in the 
sense of being enslaved to it, and necessarily yielding to its 
direction, just as a mass of brute matter inevitably follows a 
sufficient tractive force. Man does not thus yield, because 
man is not brute matter ; because he is not dead, but living, 
and has an innate force, which can resist both external circum- 
stances and internal temptation. Motives do not act upon his 
will, but he acts upon the motives, — considers them, weighs 
them against each other, suspends all action in reference to 
them until they are thus fully weighed, and treats them always 



buckle's history of civilization. 255 

as subservient to his determination, never as controlling it, — 
as his guides, never as his masters. A weight suspended by a 
rope necessarily hangs always in the same direction, perpendic- 
ular to the horizon, unless drawn or pushed aside by some 
force external to itself. Because we recognize its essential in- 
ertness or incapacity of automatic action, we never see it de- 
flected from a perpendicular without seeking some external 
cause for such deflexion. But a living man, suspended by his 
hands, can exert spontaneously the force that is in him to throw 
his body out of the line of gravitation ; and we know that the 
power thus exerted comes from within, — that the man moves 
himself. This, indeed, is an exertion of muscular power, and 
a physical antecedent can be found for it, in the nervous action 
which is needed to bring the muscles into play. But no such 
physical antecedent exists for the volition which brings out 
the nervous energy, and which is, in every sense of the word, 
spontaneous. We may assign a motive as the reason of such 
a volition, but not as its cause ; for causation implies power, 
and a reason or motive, being a mere abstraction, a considera- 
tion present to the mind, it is absurd to consider it as exerting 
force. Force is an attribute of substance, not of thought. We 
attribute force to the will only in so far as the will is identified 
with the man himself. A motive is a desire, which is a pas- 
sive state of mind ; and it is notorious that desires and voli- 
tions often run in opposite directions, so that we desire one 
thing and will another. 

Like most of the modern speculatists who deny the freedom 
of the will, Mr. Buckle attempts to avoid some of the appalling 
consequences of Fatalism, by substituting for it what is called 
the doctrine of Necessity. But this is setting up a distinction 
without a difference. He asserts that " the actions of men, 
being determined solely by their antecedents, must have a 
character of uniformity, that is to say, must, under precisely 
the same circumstances, always issue in precisely the same 
results." This is plain Fatalism ; the circumstances being 
what they were, the man could not have acted otherwise ; 
then he is not responsible for that action. But among these 
" antecedents " the Necessitarians admit not only the exter- 
nal circumstances by which the man is surrounded, but his 



256 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

own previous disposition and character, — the general bent 
of mind by which he inclines to one course of action rather 
than another. They immediately add, however, that this pre- 
vailing disposition or character is still determined for him and 
not by him, — that is, determined by previous circumstances, 
whose action upon his own mind he could not avoid. Where- 
in, then, consists his freedom ? It matters not whether his 
action is determined by immediate or remote external events, 
if the determination in either case is absolute and necessary. 
If physical antecedents form the character, and then the char- 
acter determines the volition, it is evidently the same thing as 
if those antecedents acted directly upon the will. 

This distinction of the Necessitarians may be illustrated by 
that part of the process for the manufacture of shot, whereby 
the globules which are perfectly spherical are separated from 
those of irregular shape, by allowing all of them to roll down 
an inclined plane. The perfectly spherical shot roll in a 
straight line from the top to the bottom ; and these may rep- 
resent minds according to the Fatalist's theory, their course 
being determined exclusively by an external force, — that of 
gravitation. On the Necessitarian hypothesis, minds are like 
the imperfectly formed shot, whose course is determined not 
only by gravitation, but by their own lob-sidedness, which 
causes them, instead of moving straight onward, to waddle off 
to one side, and there stop. But their imperfect sphericity is 
determined for them, and not by them, by the previous action 
of the shot-maker in forming the globules. They govern 
themselves only in this wise : they have been so badly formed 
that they wander out of what would otherwise be the track of 
their destiny. Are they any the more free, or self-determined, 
for that ? 

For the support of his theory, Mr. Buckle does not depend 
much on psychological observation or metaphysical reasoning. 
He relies chiefly upon such statistical evidence as has been 
collected by M. Quetelet and other observers, which has dis- 
closed great uniformity in human actions, even in some par- 
ticulars where it was least expected. Thus, in a given popu- 
lation, provided it be a very large one, the number of murders, 
of suicides, and of persons accused of various crimes, varies 



buckle's history of civilization. 257 

but little from year to year, and maintains about the same 
proportion to the whole number of the people. Even the 
various instruments with which these crimes are committed 
are employed in nearly the same degree of frequency. It is 
not pretended that the coincidence is accurate. The annual 
number of suicides in London, for the five years preceding 
1850, varied from 213 to 266, or about twenty -five per cent. 
As larger aggregates are taken, however, the rate of variation 
is less. Thus, the average number for these five years is 242 ; 
and it is believed, though the returns are not given, that the 
corresponding average for the five years immediately preced- 
ing, or immediately subsequent, would not vary from this 
number perhaps more than ten per cent. The uniformity of 
the law, which is obvious enough when the numbers are very 
large, is obscured as they become less, owing to the presence, 
as it is argued, of small disturbing forces and minor laws, 
which render the case more complicated. It is only when 
these perturbations are eliminated, or reduced to insignificance 
by the multitude of cases, that the working of the great social 
law becomes manifest. Mr. Buckle's inference is, that human 
actions in the long run depend upon great laws affecting the 
general state of society, and not upon the peculiarities of indi- 
viduals. Murder and suicide may seem to be infrequent and 
abnormal acts, contingent on accidental combinations of events 
and the idiosyncrasies of peculiar temperaments. Bat even 
here, statisticians demonstrate, if their observations have been 
broad enough, that great uniformity prevails, and the constant 
periodical repetition of the deed points to the steady operation 
of some uniform cause, which has not yet perhaps been traced 
or analyzed. 

Are not such results, however, precisely what we ought to 
expect, on the supposition that man is not only free, but intel- 
ligent? Reason and foresight, under similar circumstances, 
lead to general similarity of action. The uniformity, it is 
true, is not as perfect as if it had been produced by the blind 
and unimpeded operation of some mechanical cause. But it 
is precisely this partial uniformity which the returns of the 
statistician indicate. If all action were mechanical and neces- 
sary, there would be no need of uniting a great multitude of 

17 



258 THE PHILOSOPHICAL EADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

cases in order to reveal the law of that action ; the results 
would be as uniform as the successive strokes of a steam- 
engine. The fingers of a hand-loom weaver do not give as 
regular action to the shuttle as it receives in the power-loom ; 
and yet the motion is so uniform that, for hours together, the 
hand of the workman seems to be almost a portion of the 
machine. Tell that workman, however, that his action is 
necessary or uncontrollable, that he is not free to make the 
movement faster or slower, or to intermit it altogether, and he 
will laugh in your face. Where did M. Comte or his English 
disciple learn, that all phenomena which are " governed by 
will are therefore eminently variable and irregular ? " They 
might as well have confounded the law of morals with the law 
of gravitation ; for though the former is addressed to free and 
intelligent beings, and the latter describes only the action of 
brute atoms, the uniformity of the result may be nearly the 
same in the one case as in the other. 

After all, the attempt to discover laws of nature through the 
rude approximations of statistics, employing numbers enor- 
mously large, and manipulating them by the method of aver- 
ages and the doctrine of probabilities, is a procedure that can 
hardly be dignified with the name of science. A law of nature 
does not deserve its name if it be not precise and unerring. 
But an average is only a compensation of errors, and just the 
same average is struck whether the errors are large or small. 
Ten is the arithmetical mean, not only between nine and 
eleven, but between one and nineteen, and all the correspond- 
ing intermediate numbers. If a man fires a great number of 
shots at a target, the average result of his shooting will be 
precisely the same, whether he is a very poor marksman or 
a very good one. For as there is no reason why the deviations 
or errors should be in any one direction from the centre rather 
than any other, the mean of all these deviations will indicate 
precisely the same point, whether the circle including them all 
be six inches or six feet in radius. The figures cited by Mr. 
Buckle show, that the average proportion of suicides to the 
whole population of London, taking the mean of several years, 
is about one to ten thousand. But in order that this fact may 
answer his purpose, which is to prove that a human being is a 



buckle's history of civilization. 259 

mere machine, moved only by antecedents that are rigorously 
subject to law, it must be interpreted to signify that there is 
a suicidal propensity in human nature equal to just one ten- 
thousandth part of the sum of all the impulses by which that 
nature is governed. Now, among one hundred thousand Lon- 
doners, taken at random, not a single suicide may occur in the 
course of a year ; among another hundred thousand, taken in 
like manner, there may be, within the same time, one hundred 
cases. Neither of these facts, considered separately, is recon- 
cilable with Mr. Buckle's law, while their mean result seems 
to him to substantiate that law. According to such reasoning, 
the mean result of two falsehoods is a truth. And in order to 
obtain his approximate result, rude as it is, he is obliged to 
class together events which are really very dissimilar. A sui- 
cide caused by failure in business is not the same thing with 
one produced by religious fanaticism, or another committed 
when the patient was raving mad. It is idle to suppose that 
one law of nature governs cases so unlike as those of Chatter- 
ton, Clive, Romilly, Castlereagh, Haydon, and Sadleir. 

The doctrine of probabilities, an obscure reference to which 
is the basis of Mr. Buckle's reasoning, is a law which governs 
the expectations of men respecting a certain event, and not a 
law controlling the event itself. It is psychological, not physi- 
cal. That is said to be 'probable or likely, which we expect 
to happen ; but it is a vulgar error, and one into which Mr. 
Buckle has fallen, to believe that such expectation, however 
great, creates any physical impulse or tendency which will 
contribute to make it happen. If a hundred thousand balls 
are placed in an urn, and but one of them is black, it is physi- 
cally just as possible that I should draw that one black ball at 
the first trial, as any other, though the probability of doing so 
is but one out of a hundred thousand. Nay, if each of these 
balls is numbered separately from one up to a hundred thou- 
sand, I must draw at the first trial some one number which 
was just as unlikely to come uppermost as the single black 
ball. 

But we have dwelt too long upon Mr. Buckle's philosophy 
of history, to the exclusion of the history itself, if the extraor- 
dinary selection of facts and disquisitions which he has brought 



260 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

together can be dignified with that name. His method, as we 
have seen, is to examine the history of what man has been, 
and what he has done, in order to ascertain the laws both of 
his being and of his action. He begins by assuming that there 
are two sets of laws to which man is subject, the laws of mat- 
ter and the laws of mind. Where man is more powerful than 
nature, as he generally is in Europe, the latter class of laws 
prevail, or have the most influence in shaping his conduct and 
welfare ; but where nature is the stronger, as it has been in all 
countries out of Europe, physical laws have the strongest in- 
fluence. 

This is one of the rash and hasty generalizations which are 
perfectly characteristic of our author. He has no caution or 
reserve as a speculatist ; he never seeks for the exceptions to a 
principle, or the limitations of it, though a careful study of 
these generally leads to such a modified statement of the gen- 
eral maxim as alters its whole character and application. But 
if Mr. Buckle ever takes notice of an exception which is too 
salient to be winked out of sight, he wastes his strength on an 
attempt to explain it away. He mutilates the facts, that he 
may force them into accordance with his theory. The Euro- 
pean has generally triumphed, and the Asiatic generally failed, 
in the contest with nature, not because the former had fewer 
physical obstacles to contend with, or fewer physical enervat- 
ing influences to resist ; but because the European was strong, 
and the Asiatic weak, in those moral and intellectual resources 
which always give the victoiw against any odds. Many large 
regions of Asia, and even of Africa, afford as favorable sites 
for civilization, so far as physical conditions are concerned, as 
the most favored districts of Europe, where the arts long since 
found a permanent home. But we should insult our readers 
by pausing to enumerate such obvious exceptions to the gen- 
eral principle thus dogmatically enounced. Our own position 
is, that man is everywhere stronger than nature, except per- 
haps within the Arctic and Antarctic Circles, or on the Desert 
of Sahara ; — meaning, of course, not isolated man, but men 
leagued in society, however rude, and thereby bringing to the 
struggle the united strength of intellects and muscles banded 
together and aiding each other. If they ever succumb in the 



BUCKLE'S HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION. 261 

contest, their defeat is owing to their own vices and degener- 
acy, and not to physical influences too strong to be resisted. 
The Esquimaux and the Laplander can live even within the 
limits of the Arctic Circle ; and the Icelanders, on the very 
borders of it, have kept up civilization for nearly a thousand 
years. 

But let us follow Mr. Buckle to his own ground, — to a con- 
sideration of those physical influences which, as he would have 
us believe, everywhere but in Europe, — that is, over at least 
fourteen fifteenths of the earth's landed surface, — have either 
civilized man in spite of himself, or have successfully resisted 
his own best efforts to emerge from barbarism. The Necessi- 
tarian may well triumph if he can make out, for so large a 
portion of the globe, an overwhelming predominance of physi- 
cal over mental laws in shaping human destiny. He does not 
weary us with a long catalogue of the natural agencies by 
which the welfare of the human race is most affected. He 
enumerates only four, — Climate, Soil, Food, and what he calls 
the " General Aspect of Nature," meaning thereby those im- 
posing and awful features of natural scenery, which, by inflam- 
ing the imagination, generate superstition, and thus most ef- 
fectually retard the progress of the human race. We object 
at once to this enumeration as both redundant and defective ; 
redundant, as embracing both Soil and Food, though the most 
important office of the former is to produce the latter, so that 
the two should be counted but as one ; and defective, be- 
cause, to say nothing of other omissions, it leaves out Geo- 
graphical Position, which is, perhaps, the most important of 
them all. A more attentive consideration of Assyrian, Egyp- 
tian, Greek, Roman, and English civilization might possibly 
convince Mr. Buckle that a situation along the banks of a 
great fertilizing and navigable river, or the possession of a long 
line of deeply indented sea-coast, is a circumstance highly fa- 
vorable to the rise and continuance of civilization. We are 
not reconciled, moreover, to the exclusion of another important 
element, Inherited Qualities of Race, merely by the quotation 
of a magisterial remark by Mr. Mill, that " of all vulgar modes 
of escaping from the consideration of the effect of social and 
moral influences on the human mind, the most vulgar is that 



262 THE PHILOSOPHICAL EADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

of attributing the diversities of conduct and character to in- 
herited natural differences." We hold that there is one more 
vulgar still ; and that is, to attribute a preponderant influence 
to Food and Climate. And though not placing so much stress 
as many naturalists have done on the peculiarities of the so- 
called Varieties of Mankind, we still think that there is a good 
deal in the history and the present condition of the Mongolian, 
the African, the American, and the Circassian races to sustain 
the belief, that these races are distinguished from one another 
by some important original and innate characteristics both of 
body and mind. 

But faulty as Mr. Buckle's enumeration is, to analyze and 
develop the manner in which the habits and characters of 
different nations have been affected by peculiarities of their 
Climate, Food, Soil, and Scenery, would have been an agree- 
able and instructive disquisition. Montesquieu began such an 
analysis, but left it very imperfect. No opponent of the doc- 
trine of necessity denies that men adapt their habits to their 
circumstances, that their customs and tastes are flexible, and 
that even their characters are gradually modified by a change 
in their habits and pursuits. All this is an evidence rather of 
man's power than of his weakness. To adopt Lord Bacon's 
phrase, Man conquers Nature by obeying her laws. He is 
born a cosmopolite ; he can live everywhere, except, as we have 
said, in the regions of perpetual frost ; and habit can endear 
the most rugged and unpromising country to him, and can 
make its rigors minister to his comfort. 

But this is too simple a view foi Mr. Buckle to take. He 
must represent man, everywhere but in Europe, not as the 
helpmate and often the master of Nature, but as her slave. 
And his description of the means and process, as well as of the 
results, of this subjugation, is most extraordinary. Some of 
the most controverted theories of English political economy, 
first suggested by the peculiar condition of the laboring classes 
in England and Ireland for the last hundred years, doubtful 
even in relation to them, and unquestionably false in their 
application to any other country and age, are here brought for- 
ward as the keys of universal history, and as alone adequate 
to explain all the peculiarities of Hindoo and Egyptian charac- 



buckle's history of civilization. 263 

ter and civilization throughout forty centuries. Malthus's doc- 
trine of population and Ricardo's theory of rent have been put 
to hard service by their authors, but were never before required 
to solve such problems as these. The bare attempt to make 
such use of them is an anachronism and a blunder. Who told 
Mr. Buckle that the population of Egypt under the Pharaohs 
was in the same state as the population of Ireland under Queen 
Victoria ? or that the cause of the people's misery in either case 
was that they multiplied too fast, and not rather the pressure 
of institutions and laws which avowedly favored the unequal 
distribution of wealth ? Ireland has never been so thickly 
peopled as Belgium, it has at least an equally fertile soil, and 
both these countries annually export large quantities of food. 
How idle is it, then, to attribute the sufferings of the Irish, or 
of the ancient Egyptians, to their numbers having outrun their 
subsistence, instead of tracing the evil to the form of polity 
by which they were oppressed ! The institution of Castes on 
the largest scale, an institution which has its origin and its 
support in political and religious considerations, has always 
been the characteristic feature of Hindoo and Egyptian civiliza- 
tion ; and where the system of Caste is rigidly enforced, there 
is no freedom of competition in the dealings between man 
and man, and consequently no division of value into its three 
component elements. Even where African slavery continues 
to exist as a single Caste, the distinction between wages and 
profits disappears, the increase or diminution of the laboring 
class depends solely on the will of the master, which is regu- 
lated by calculations of profit, and the theories of Mai thus and 
Ricardo, consequently, are as little applicable as they would be 
in a community like that of the Shakers, where all property is 
held in common and no intercourse is permitted between the 
sexes. 

Mr. Buckle's eagerness to represent the character and con- 
duct of men as determined by merely physical antecedents, 
and hence to solve the problems of history through the dis- 
coveries of modern physical science, has led him to make as 
rash use of chemistry and physiology in his work, as of po- 
litical economy. Perhaps a childish vanity of displaying the 
extent of his acquaintance with the various sciences has often 



264 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

unconsciously determined the character of his speculations. 
Thus, he sometimes laboriously constructs a complicated scien- 
tific explanation of a fact or phenomenon so simple in itself 
that it is only darkened by any attempt to render it more in- 
telligible. " The inhabitants of the polar regions,' , he tells 
us, " consume large quantities of whale oil and blubber ; while 
within the tropics, the ordinary food consists almost entirely 
of fruit, rice, and other vegetables." The reason is obvious. 
Where no vegetables whatever are produced, as in the ice- 
bound regions of the North, the inhabitants live upon the only 
food that is within their reach ; while the Hindoos find a 
vegetable diet the cheapest. But this is too simple a view of 
the matter to answer Mr. Buckle's purpose. He must lug in 
by the ears a long disquisition on some very questionable 
chemical speculations of Liebig, whereby the heat of the hu- 
man body is traced to the use of highly carbonized food ; and 
we are gravely informed that the oils contain six times as much 
carbon as the fruits. Animal food is more difficult to be had, 
and more of it is needed, in cold countries than in hot ones ; 
therefore wages tend to be lower in tropical regions than in 
Northern Europe. Hence the lamentable paradox of the Eng- 
lish school, that cheap and abundant food is an evil, after be- 
ing falsely applied to account for the miseries of Ireland, is 
here brought forward to explain the origin and character of 
Asiatic civilization. The whole theory is confuted by expe- 
rience in America, where food is cheaper and wages are higher 
than in Great Britain. Moreover, all classes in our Southern 
Slave States, countries of the orange and the sugar-cane, ha- 
bitually use more animal food than the laboring Scotch, who 
live about thirty degrees nearer the North Pole. Mr. Buckle 
reasons thus: A fat soil and a hot climate make cheap food; 
cheap food depresses wages ; low wages cause an unequal dis- 
tribution of wealth ; and inequality of wealth produces an in- 
equality of political power and social influence. But these 
inequalities exist in Russia in as great, if not a greater, degree 
than in Southern Asia ; and Russia unfortunately is a very 
cold country, where the need of animal food is very pressing. 
In truth, experience and common sense should teach Mr. 
Buckle to invert his order of cause and effect, and reason the 



buckle's history of civilization. 265 

other way. In dynastic changes and military usurpations, he 
should find the origin of despotic power ; to despotic and aris- 
tocratic institutions, he should trace the inequality of wealth ; 
and the great body of poverty thus created keeps wages de- 
pressed, and reduces the laborer to the poorest possible diet, 
even where nature's bounty makes rich food abundant and 
cheap. But as such reasoning would prove man to be more 
powerful than nature, or the human will to be independent 
of physical antecedents, it does not suit our author's purpose. 

We must not dwell longer on the details of this gloomy and 
scandalous theory, and can only point out in general terms the 
grand fallacy of the argument by which it is supported. Take 
any scheme of social philosophy, any theory of human life 
and character, however extravagant, and allow its author to 
range over the history of all countries and ages for facts and 
illustrations which may seem to harmonize with it, while he 
is not expected to notice any that contradict it, nor to enter 
into any detailed or consecutive narrative, and it will be 
strange indeed if it is not made to appear ingenious and plau- 
sible, and if careless readers do not accept it as sound and able 
speculation. In this Introduction to his great work, an Intro- 
duction which already fills two bulky volumes, Mr. Buckle 
revels in the large results of his desultory studies and omnivo- 
rous reading. He has brought together a vast magazine of 
the scraps of learning, and weaves them into any fabric that 
may suit his fancy, rather than his judgment. He is not 
pinned down to any method, he is not confined to any prin- 
ciple of selection. He has put under contribution all science, 
all philosophy, and all history, at liberty to cull what he chose, 
and care'ul not to see anything which would obstruct his 
progress, suggest difficulties, or mar in any way the harmony 
of his fabric. In the same chapter, and even the same para- 
graph, he glances from India to Peru, from the polar regions 
to Arabia, from the history of the tenth century before Christ 
to that of the debates on the Reform Bill and the Paper Duty. 
The wealth and civilization of ancient Peru are attributed to 
the lavish bounty of nature, the fact being conveniently for- 
gotten, that over a large portion of that country rain never 
falls ; while California, better watered than Peru, is described 



266 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

as a parched and sterile region, in order that the lack of moist- 
ure and the consequent dearness of food may explain the un- 
civilized state of its aboriginal inhabitants. Brazil, again, 
where all the resources of natural wealth exist in measure- 
less profusion, never became civilized, as this author tells us, 
precisely on account of the abundance of her riches. Nat- 
ure is too potent for man ; her rivers and forests are too 
grand ; vegetation is too luxuriant ; animal life is too varied 
and abundant ; " enormous meadows, reeking with heat and 
moisture," afford nourishment to too many herds of wild cat- 
tle. Why, according to Mr. Buckle's theory, Brazil, before 
it was visited by Europeans, ought to have been the most 
civilized country in the world. If the blessings of nature in 
respect of climate, soil, and food civilized India, Egypt, and 
Peru, a still greater measure of those blessings ought to have 
done as much, or more, for ancient Brazil. Mr. Buckle for- 
gets, also, that the central and southern portions of the United 
States, including nearly the whole of the magnificent valley 
of the Mississippi, present just that assemblage of physical 
conditions to which, as he maintains, the superior civilization 
of Europe herself owes its origin. If the qualities of race 
count for nothing, but merely physical agencies do all, and if, 
consequently, all refinement and progress must be of home 
origin, created and nourished by the natural influences of the 
region within which they exist, then Hendrik Hudson, John 
Smith, and William Penn ought to have found here a more 
advanced civilization than that which they brought with them. 
Besides, as the great physical features of a country remain 
unchanged through all time, all that depends upon them ought 
to be equally permanent and irreversible. The climate, soil, 
and scenery of Egypt and India are the same now that they 
were under Sesostris or Porus ; but the present semi-bar- 
barous condition of their native inhabitants exhibits no trace 
of the arts, culture, and refinement which distinguished their 
ancestors thousands of years ago. Even the languages have 
perished which contain the records of their ancient civiliza- 
tion, except so far as they have been recovered by the inge- 
nuity and learning of European scholars. And what was the 
condition of Britain, Gaul, and Germany, down to at least as 



BUCKLE'S HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION. 267 

late a period as the fall of the Roman empire in the West ? 
They were surrounded by the same physical agencies then as 
now ; but the light of civilization had hardly yet dawned upon 
them. 

A discovery of the laws of European history being resolved 
by Mr. Buckle primarily into a study of the laws of the hu- 
man mind, and his method of psychological study consisting 
merely in the observation of phenomena, and in the application 
to them of the principles of all inductive science, we have the 
first grand result of his investigations in the statement, that 
moral truths are stationary, while intellectual truths alone are 
progressive. Hence, he concludes, we are to look for the ad- 
vancement of the race to the development of the intellect, and 
not at all to the cultivation of the moral feelings. The prog- 
ress of society must be measured " by the amount and success 
of their intellectual activity." No discoveries are possible in 
ethics; the great body of moral truths remains unchanged 
from one age to another, and all nations instinctively recognize 
them. Whatever changes take place in the opinions of men, 
or whatever improvements are effected in their condition, can- 
not be attributed, therefore, to moral influences, but must be 
due to the discoveries of the intellect. To adopt our author's 
own strong and unqualified language, " the growth of Euro- 
pean civilization is solely due to the progress of knowledge, 
and the progress of knowledge depends on the number of truths 
which the human intellect discovers, and on the extent to 
which they are diffused." 

There is a confusion of thought here, and when this is dis- 
sipated, Mr. Buckle's proposition is resolved either into a bar- 
ren truism or a transparent falsehood. Even if discoveries 
were possible in the province of morals, it would be the busi- 
ness of the intellect to make them. A man cannot see except 
by the use of his eyes, nor, investigate truth except by an in- 
tellectual process. The function of conscience, or the moral 
nature of man, is entirely different ; it is not to separate truth 
from error, but to regulate conduct. Its office is monition, 
not discovery ; it is not so much a guide as a master, for it 
speaks, not to instruct, but to command. It is a mere truism, 
then, to say that its laws are the same yesterday, to-day, and 



268 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

forever, and that they admit neither of enlargement nor re- 
peal. 

But this is not Mr. Buckle's meaning. He intends to say, 
that the increased happiness of a community and its progress 
in civilization depend altogether upon the cultivation of the 
intellect, and not at all upon the observance of morality ; — 
which is a palpable untruth, contradicted by all history. 
" The two oldest, greatest, most inveterate, and most widely 
spread evils which have ever been known," he tells us, are 
religious persecution and war ; these have been constantly 
diminishing ; and " their diminution has been effected, not at 
all by moral feelings, nor by moral teachings, but solely by the 
activity of the human intellect, and by the inventions and dis- 
coveries which, in a long course of successive ages, man has 
been able to make." And as in respect to these two great 
evils, so also in inferior matters, the same process has been 
followed, and the same law holds. " The actions of bad men 
produce only temporary evil, the actions of good men only 
temporary good ; and eventually the good and the evil alto- 
gether subside." They offset and neutralize each other, leav- 
ing the progress of the human race to be effected solely by the 
discoveries of genius, " which are immortal and never leave 
us." He pledges himself to prove, in the course of his work, 
that " the progress Europe has made from barbarism to civil- 
ization is entirely due to its intellectual activity ; " and that 
the occasional disturbances produced by moral agencies " are 
but aberrations, which, if we compare long periods of time, 
balance each other, and thus, in the total amount, entirely 



And as morality has effected nothing for the human race, 
so religion has done worse ; it has been a positive curse, the 
greatest bane of mankind. Religious persecution, as has been 
stated, has produced more affliction, has done more harm, has 
been a greater obstruction to progress, than any other evil — 
than all other evils united. This is the thesis which nearly 
the whole of Mr. Buckle's second volume, and a large portion 
of his first, are designed to prove. The rise of scepticism, in 
his opinion, is the first condition for the beginning of progress, 
for any improvement in science, art, civilization, or the gen- 






buckle's history of civilization. 269 

eral condition of mankind ; and religions intolerance is the 
great evil with which mankind have had to contend. An 
abstract of the history of Spain and Scotland, or rather a 
copious gleaning of facts from that history, partial and one- 
sided in the extreme, fills the second volume, the sole object 
being to prove that superstition is the greatest of all errors, 
and religious persecution the most fearful scourge, that man- 
kind have ever known. And the evil of this intolerance, we 
are specially taught, is only enhanced by the purity of inten- 
tion and sincerity of belief of those who manifest it. In a 
moral point of view, the motives of religious persecutors are 
unimpeachable. "Diminish the sincerity, and you will dimin- 
ish the persecution ; in other words, by weakening the virtue 
you may check the evil." Thus a double point is made 
against both morality and religion ; they are two poisons 
which enhance and stimulate each other. Fortunately, the 
intellectual progress of the race is fast conquering both evils, 
or leaving them behind in the great march of civilization. 
Discoveries and inventions, chemistry and physiology, political 
economy and improved means of locomotion, gunpowder, the 
steam-engine, and the magnetic telegraph, — these are at once 
the agents and the results of human progress ; these wage 
unceasing war against credulity and intolerance, and ulti- 
mately triumph over them. The discoveries of great men 
contain those eternal truths which " outlive the struggles of 
rival creeds, and witness the decay of successive religions. All 
these have their different measures and their different stand- 
ards ; one set of opinions for one age, another set for another. 
They pass away like a dream ; they are as the fabric of a 
vision, which leaves not a rack behind." 

And these are the results of Mr. Buckle's study of the his- 
tory of civilization ! These are the conclusions to which he 
has been led by studying the laws of the human mind, not ac- 
cording to the usual method of the psychologist, the moralist, 
and the theist, through the testimony of consciousness, — " not 
simply as they appear in the mind of the individual observer, 
but as they appear in the actions of mankind at large ; " — 
that is, as they appear in the evidence of statistics, and other 
recorded facts of history and science ! This improved method 



270 THE PHILOSOPHICAL EADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

is not original with him ; it is the method of Comte, Mill, 
and other Positivists and radical philosophers. It is the nec- 
essary procedure of those who overlook or contemn the testi- 
mony of consciousness, deny the freedom of the will, and ex- 
tend the dominion of physical laws to the entire exclusion of 
the supernatural or providential element in human affairs. 
We would do no injustice to the present advocate of these doc- 
trines. As nearly as our limits would permit, we have stated 
his conclusions in his own language ; and we would refer any 
who may doubt the correctness of the outline to his own fuller 
statement of them in the fourth chapter of his first volume. 

Not without reason, then, have we described him as a pupil 
and imitator of Hobbes, though the philosopher of Malmes- 
bury was the unblushing advocate of despotism in politics, as 
well as of materialism in philosophy, and selfishness in morals, 
while Mr. Buckle fiercely asserts the rights of individuals 
against any interference or any claim of authority by church 
or state. But he manifests the same arrogant contempt as his 
great predecessor for the best sympathies and feelings of man- 
kind. Extremes meet ; the absolutist and the radical start 
from the same premises, move by a common impulse, and 
arrive at what are essentially the same conclusions. Both 
show the same inclination for paradox, the same disposition 
to fly in the face of the dearest convictions of their fellow-men, 
and both adopt the same brutal tone of expression towards 
those whose feelings they outrage. We have no scruples 
about drawing this parallel, as Mr. Buckle will doubtless 
deem himself honored by the comparison. But we would 
remind him that notoriety is not fame, that recklessness is no 
proof of courage, and that he who abjures caution and sobriety 
of manner, and even a decent regard for the feelings of his 
opponents, casts away the best safeguards of successful inves- 
tigation, and does his utmost to discredit his own conclusions. 

One argument which he adduces in favor of the doctrine 
that the moral feelings of mankind do not, in the long run, aid 
their progress or improve their condition, is too characteristic 
of the writer and of his method to escape notice. It is founded 
on the assertion of the statisticians already alluded to, that 
the annual amount of crime in a country is reproduced, year 



buckle's history of civilization. 271 

after year, with considerable uniformity. Then the moral 
feelings of an individual, he argues, may exert great influence 
on the amount of his own transgressions, but will not at all 
diminish the aggregate of crime in the community to which 
he belongs. His motives for well-doing, then, must be selfish ; 
he may lessen his own culpability, but he will not benefit 
society, which must still contend against as much misconduct 
as ever. Even though we may be conscious, therefore, that 
moral principles regulate our own conduct, " we have incontro- 
vertible proof that they produce not the least effect on man- 
kind in the aggregate, or even on men in very large masses." 

The fallacy here is so transparent, that we marvel both 
at its escaping detection in itself, and at its failing to disclose 
the erroneousness, and even the absurdity, of the method of 
reasoning which led to it. Society is nothing but an aggre- 
gate of individuals, and the whole amount of crime regis- 
tered in a year is but the sum total of the separate offences 
committed within that period. He who overcomes tempta- 
tion but in a single instance lessens that sum by unity; and 
this is a positive gain to the community, and a gain which is 
greater or less in proportion to the heinousness of the offence 
in question, and not in proportion to the number of other 
crimes with which it is compared. Mr. Buckle's mode of 
reducing the magnitude of this gain to insignificance, through 
" the precaution of studying social phenomena for a period 
sufficiently long and on a scale sufficiently great," — that is, 
by counting it only as one case out of a thousand, or one out 
of a million, — is precisely akin to the folly of a child, who 
should attempt to lessen his estimate of the size of an obstacle 
by regarding it from so great a distance that the mountain 
would seem to the eye no larger than a mole-hill. It is Ms 
estimate of the magnitude, and not the magnitude itself, 
which he lessens by this ingenious folly, this attempt at self- 
deception. The statistical method, as we have already hinted, 
is a means, not of avoiding, but of hiding errors, by setting 
them off one against another. It is a compensation of oppo- 
site blunders. 

But the great fallacy which underlies the whole of Mr. 
Buckle's doctrine and argument arises from the vagueness 



272 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

and uncertainty in his use of the word civilization. It is with 
good reason that he has omitted, as we have already men- 
tioned, to define what that is of which he has attempted to 
write the history. Had he even attempted such a definition, 
he must have recognized the absurdity of his theory. And 
what an omission ! It is as if the author of a new system 
of logic, or a new scheme of philosophy, should execute half 
of his work before settling in his own mind, or informing his 
readers, what logic or philosophy is. His edifice is far ad- 
vanced towards completion, but he has forgotten to lay its 
foundation. The only word which he uses as synonymous 
with Civilization is "Progress," a term which is still more 
loose and uncertain in its signification. He means, though 
he does not directly say so, the " Progress of Knowledge ; " and 
if any one should attempt, by a large induction from many 
passages of his work, to ascertain what Civilization, accord- 
ing to Mr. Buckle, means, the answer would undoubtedly be 
the Progress and Diffusion of Knowledge. This is the as- 
sumption on which his whole theory is built ; and his parallel 
assumption is, that the advancement of knowledge constitutes, 
and is the measure of, human power and happiness. 

Thus understood, his paradoxical assertion, that the culti- 
vation of the intellect, and not of the conscience, is the source 
and root of civilization, becomes a mere truism, even an iden- 
tical proposition. Certainly, intellect is the only means of 
the advancement of knowledge, and conscience has nothing 
to do with it, except indirectly. A more harmless platitude 
was never uttered. But in this sense, it is not true that civili- 
zation is the same thing as happiness, or the only means of 
securing happiness. For happiness depends on the due regula- 
tion of the passions and the conduct ; and this is the province 
of morality and religion, the cultivation of the intellect having, 
at the best, but a remote and indirect agency in the work. 
The sorrowful confession of many a philosopher and man of 
science, the history of many a genius, — nay, the experience 
of half mankind, — attests that the increase of knowledge is 
not necessarily the increase of happiness. 

We now know how to construe our author's oft repeated 
assertions, that " civilization is regulated by the accumula- 



buckle's histoey of civilization. 273 

tion and diffusion of knowledge," and that " the growth of 
European civilization is solely due to the progress of knowl- 
edge." He is really identifying the two elements, which he 
here places in the nominal relation of cause and effect ; he 
means that civilization is the progress of knowledge. This 
is merely an unauthorized use of language, which constantly 
leads the reader astray, and hides the author's vagueness of 
meaning and unsoundness of argument. We can rightly ap- 
preciate the doctrine and the reasoning only by defining at 
the outset what people generally mean by Civilization. 

We say, then, that the Civilization of a community means 
its happiness, so far as this is secured by the prevalence of 
morality, intelligence, and refinement of taste, and by the gen- 
eral enjoyment of the products of the fine and the useful arts. 
For the correctness of this definition, we can only appeal to 
the dictionary and the general usage of the best writers. 

Taking this signification of the word along with us, Mr. 
Buckle's doctrine ceases to be even plausible ; it is simply 
absurd. The highest degree of civilization ever attained by 
the ancients — and it was a degree which, in many respects, 
the moderns have never equalled — was that of Athens under 
Pericles. But wl>at did the knowledge even of the wisest 
Athenians amount to ? And of what discoveries or inventions 
could they boast ? It is little to say, that a pupil in one of 
our high schools knows vastly more than the best of them 
did. In their times, not one of the physical sciences had 
begun to unroll the secrets of nature. They knew a little 
geometry, a very little astronomy and natural history ; as to 
their acquisitions or speculations in logic, rhetoric, ethics, 
and metaphysics, Mr. Buckle will hardly dignify these with 
the name of science. But why need we state the case in our 
own language, when we can borrow the weighty words of one 
who was the greatest scholar, and one of the greatest thinkers, 
of the present century ? 

" Every learner in science," says Sir William Hamilton, " is now 
familiar with more truths than Aristotle or Plato ever dreamt of 
knowing ; yet, compared with the Stagirite or the Athenian, how few, 
even of the masters of modern science, rank higher than intellectual 
barbarians ! Ancient Greece and modern Europe prove, indeed, that 
18 



274 THE PHILOSOPHICAL KADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

* the march of intellect ' is no inseparable concomitant of ( the march 
of science ; ' that the cultivation of the individual is not to be rashly- 
confounded with the progress of the species." 

The brightest period in the history of Roman civilization, 
the age of Augustus, ranks much below the age of Pericles, 
simply because morality and philosophy had declined, both 
in the schools and in their influence on societj 7 . In ethics 
and philosophy, Cicero was but a feeble copyist and trans- 
lator of his Greek teachers, and his is the only name that 
deserves mention. The fire of patriotism had burnt out, and 
the standard of morality, both in public and private life, had 
fallen so low as to threaten society itself, not so much with 
dissolution, as with putrescence. Under the second and third 
Emperors, at least, if not under the first, the only motto for 
those who could boast either of patrician blood or of mental 
culture seemed to be, " Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we 
die." Among the upper and middle classes, even the love of 
offspring had been overpowered by the love of vice. Popula- 
tion rapidly declined. Patricians disowned or gave away their 
children, if they had any, willed their property to strangers, 
and, after leading a life of extreme licentiousness and effem- 
inacy, showed some remains of the old Roman spirit only in 
the cheerfulness and alacrity with which they opened their 
veins, or took poison, after they had been denounced to the 
Emperor. Satire was the only branch of poetry which the 
Romans may be said to have created, and in which they 
really excelled ; for satire alone had a legitimate theme, and 
abundant materials for its work. In Horace and Juvenal, the 
laughing and the indignant, satirist, we find such pictures as 
literature nowhere else affords of a civilization which had be- 
come thoroughly corrupt and debased, — which had really 
ceased to be civilization, as it had rotted in its own vices. 
There was some reaction under Trajan and the Antonines, 
caused partly by the vigorous rule and stoical morality of 
these Emperors, and partly by the influence of Christianity, 
which had begun to pervade the middle and lower classes, and 
was working from them upward. But the reaction was short- 
lived, as no extraneous causes could check a decline that had 
already become so marked and proceeded so far. Christianity 



buckle's histoey of civilization. 275 

found its proper work in taming the ferocity and modelling 
the characters of the rude barbarians from the North, who 
trampled out the last vestiges of Roman power and civiliza- 
tion. 

Yet, from Pericles to Nero, it cannot be denied that mere 
knowledge had increased. Archimedes and Hipparchus had 
made important additions to physical science. The Julian ref- 
ormation of the calendar was a considerable step in advance. 
There were writers of some note in natural history, agricul- 
ture, and architecture. According to Mr. Buckle's mode of 
judging, it cannot be denied that the world had made prog- 
ress, — that Pliny and Seneca knew more than Plato or Aris- 
totle. We have learned from Herculaneum and Pompeii, that 
the Romans had made great advances in the useful arts, for 
their houses were furnished with many conveniences and lux- 
uries which the Athenians in their palmiest days had never 
dreamed of. But humanity had little reason to boast itself of 
this " march of science ; " for not even Mr. Buckle will dare to 
deny, in this instance at least, that the advancement of knowl- 
edge was accompanied by a woful decline of every element 
that constitutes true civilization. 

Coming down to modern times, we find still more abundant 
means of refuting the paradoxical and debasing doctrine of 
this book. So far from its being true M that the growth of 
European civilization is solely due to the progress of knowl- 
edge, and that the progress of knowledge depends on the num- 
ber of truths which the human intellect discovers, and on the 
extent to which they are diffused," while morality and relig- 
ion are either of no account or positively injurious, — so far, 
we say, is this humiliating assertion from the truth, that all 
history proves precisely the reverse. The great agents and 
tokens of modern civilization are those institutions of benefi- 
cence, those reforms of old abuses, vices, and crimes, and that 
amelioration of legal codes and private manners, which have 
added most to the happiness of the human race, and which are 
directly and undeniably traceable to the influence of morality 
and religion ; while the mere discovery of new truths, the en- 
larged boundaries of science, and the triumphs of intellect, 
have had little or no share in producing them. This is our 



276 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

thesis, and it has at least this advantage over Mr. Buckle's, 
that it is one which we are not ashamed to avow and defend ; 
while he is driven to the humiliating acknowledgment, that 
his " conclusions are no doubt very unpalatable ; " that they are 
even " peculiarly offensive ; " and the only apology he can offer 
is the cold-blooded one, that "the unpleasantness of a state- 
ment is hardly to be considered a proof of its falsity." 

We say, then, that hospitals, public schools, and alms- 
houses, — the support of the poor and the instruction of the 
ignorant, — the amelioration of prisons, the abolition of the 
slave-trade, the humane treatment of prisoners of war, and 
the growing disuse of brutal sports, are the chief features of 
difference between barbarous and civilized nations at the pres- 
ent day; and that for all of them we are indebted to the 
increased cultivation of the moral feelings, to the greater ac- 
tivity of conscience, and — we will not be deterred by Mr. 
(Buckle's sneers from adding — to pulpits, priests, and ser- 
mons. If he denies this assertion, let him point out any na- 
tion upon earth before the Christian era, or any barbarous or 
unconverted nation of the present day, in which such institu- 
tions have been erected, such efforts made, and such improve- 
ments effected, by the spontaneous concurrence of government 
and people. If any instances can be mentioned, and they 
must be few and weak, they are found probably among the 
Mohammedans, the better part of whose morality and human- 
ity, it will be generally acknowledged, is an aftergrowth and 
a plagiarism from the Jewish or Christian Scriptures. Mod- 
ern civilization is distinguished from ancient chiefly by an in- 
creased tenderness for human life, and an increased anxiety to 
relieve human suffering. It is not that men did not before 
know how to spare or to pity. It is not that the progress of 
discovery and invention has now first enabled us, or taught us 
how, to be merciful and charitable. In earlier times, power 
and intellect were not wanting ; but will, the attempt, was 
never made. We would not be unjust to Science ; she has 
done much as the handmaid of morality and religion. She has 
rendered asylums for the poor, the sick, the maimed, the blind, 
the deaf and dumb, more efficient ; but she never originated 
them. She has been often the hired, often the volunteer, 



277 

servant of charity. But in all her proper and peculiar work, 
no one will deny that the pride of intellect and the desire of 
reputation have been added to the love of knowledge as her 
motives. 

We claim all these triumphs of modern civilization for mo- 
rality, first stimulated and rendered active and efficient — Mr. 
Buckle will not allow us to say first discovered — by the 
Christian religion. We claim them for the only gospel that 
was specially, and by its Founder, " preached to the poor ; " 
whose first precept is, " Love your enemies ; " whose first ben- 
edictions fell on those " that mourn," on " the merciful," and 
" the pure in heart ; " and whose first caution is, that " when 
thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right 
hand doeth." Mr. Buckle says, that these and similar dog- 
mas "have been known for thousands of years;" and "that 
the systems of morals propounded in the New Testament con- 
tained no maxim which had not been previously enunciated ; 
and that some of the most beautiful passages in the Apostolic 
writings are quotations from Pagan authors, is well known to 
to every scholar." As the single brief citation, a part of one 
line, which St. Paul made from Aratus in his speech at Mars 
Hill, is a very insufficient foundation for this last broad asser 
tion, we are compelled to believe that our author has made 
some discoveries in the Apostolic writings which are not 
"known to every scholar," or indeed to any one except him- 
self. And against the former statement we place the author- 
ity of one of the greatest metaphysicians of modern times, and 
one who was certainly not so much a friend, as an opponent, 
of the Christian religion. In his "Religion within the Limits 
of mere Reason," Kant cites these and other moral precepts, 
taken chiefly from the Sermon on the Mount, " as proofs of 
the divine mission " of Him who uttered them, and of " the 
honor due to Him as founder of the first true church." It is 
idle to say that isolated hints of one or more of them, taken 
separately, can be found here and there, after great search, in 
the writings of some Pagan moralists. He who first announced 
them collectively, in one brief discourse, not as the fruits of 
ethical disquisition, but as a message from God to man, is 
their true author, their original promulgator and voucher. 



278 THE PHILOSOPHICAL KADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

Let him who doubts or denies this assertion point to the first 
heathen nation that has reduced them to practice in such in- 
stitutions and endeavors as we have mentioned, or to the first 
Christian nation that has not done this. 

/ We deny that the mere advancement of science, the dis- 
covery of new facts and truths, whether physical or purely 
speculative, however gratifying to the pride of intellect and 
honorable to the genius of the discoverer, has had any but an 
indirect and comparatively feeble influence on the progress of 
civilization. Such discoveries are the effects, not the causes, 
of that " prevalence of morality, intelligence, and refinement 
of taste," in which, as we have said, true civilization consists^ 
Now, the only two of these elements which can come into 
question here, intelligence and refinement, whether of an in- 
individual or a nation, are not increased or heightened in pro- 
portion to the number of truths known or facts discovered. 
Not to recur to the instance, already given, of the Athenians 
in their palmiest days, as compared with any nation or age for 
fifteen centuries after the glory of Athens had departed, we 
will take what is, so far as discovery is concerned, the bright- 
est epoch of modern times. This is unquestionably the age of 
Newton and Leibnitz, of Boyle, Hooke, Huyghens, Von Guer- 
icke, Cassini, Pascal, Wren, and a crowd of other illustrious 
names. Designated by its principal sovereigns, it is the age 
of Charles II., Louis XIV., and Leopold I. But no English- 
man or German will refer with pride to the history of his 
country during this period, or will maintain that the general 
civilization of his people was then either at its height, or mak- 
ing more rapid progress than it had done for several genera- 
tions before. Generally, it was an age of licentious manners 
and feeble public spirit, when little was done for popular edu- 
cation, or to elevate the condition of the laboring classes, — 
when courts were corrupt and the people enslaved. France, 
it is true, was then in her Augustan age ; but her glory con- 
sisted in her literature, not in her science. Mr. Buckle even 
maintains, that her literary splendor in those times was " the 
work of the great generation " that had just passed away ; that 
" the absence in France, during this period, not only of great 
discoveries, but also of mere practical ingenuity, is certainly 



buckle's histoky of civilization. 279 

very striking ; " and, generally, that " the age of Louis XIV. 
was an age of decay: it was an age of misery, intolerance, and 
oppression ; it was an age of bondage, of ignominy, of intol- 
erance." All this is coarsely exaggerated, and marked by our 
author's usual recklessness of statement and brutality of ex- 
pression. The French of that day certainly showed great re- 
finement of taste and elegance of culture ; and, amidst much 
tinsel splendor, they achieved more than any other generation 
of their countrymen in literature and art. But their triumphs 
were not those of the intellect, in the narrower sense in which 
Mr. Buckle uses that term ; the physical science of Paris at 
that time was an exotic, not a native growth. The only emi- 
nent astronomers patronized by Louis XIV. were foreigners ; 
and France was full half a century behind other nations of 
Europe in accepting the Newtonian theory. The general re- 
sult is, that the people of the most splendid civilization made 
the fewest discoveries ; while with the Germans, English, and 
Dutch, the case was precisely the reverse. So, also, the richest 
and most brilliant civilization of Europe, in the fifteenth and 
sixteenth centuries, was that of Rome, Florence, and the other 
cities of Italy ; and this, again, manifested itself chiefly in 
literature and art, and hardly at all in scientific inquiry, or the 
promulgation of new truths. 

In fact, great achievements in science, like those of Galileo, 
Newton, Laplace, and Cuvier, do not early or easily enter into 
the mass of familiar truths on which common minds are fed, 
and by which the broad civilization of a people or an age is af- 
fected. They dignify, but they do not constitute, that civili- 
zation, nor give rise to it. They remain for a long time, if 
not forever, like the fruits of the more refined scholarship and 
the processes of the higher mathematics, the exclusive property 
of a comparatively small body of the learned. Art and litera- 
ture, morality and religion, are far more popular and diffusive 
in their effects ; they are cosmopolitan and universal, not con- 
fined to any country or age, and not by any means limited in 
their influence to the particular classes by which they are spe- 
cially professed. They affect the whole atmosphere in which 
all the people live and act. They color and shape the na- 
tional life and character in every vein and lineament. Wealth, 



280 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

public spirit, and popular education — both that which is dis- 
pensed in schools, and that which is constantly imbibed from 
the whole environment of institutions and circumstances in 
which a people are placed — are the agencies which foster and 
diffuse these national blessings. Civilization is not shut up in 
laboratories, scientific academies, or museums of natural his- 
tory, and does not issue from them ; on the contrary, the most 
splendid civilization may exist where these means and appli- 
ances of mere physical research are entirely wanting. 

But it may be said that invention, though not discovery, is 
a most important agency in the accumulation of wealth, and in 
bringing about that general enjoyment of the products of the 
fine and the useful arts, which we have admitted to be one great 
constituent of civilization. So it is ; but this admission makes 
nothing for Mr. Buckle's purpose, unless he can prove that in- 
vention is the natural and ordinary result of discovery. He 
here falls into the common error, of which even scientific minds 
are not yet generally disabused. We altogether deny that 
either the great inventions which have turned the course of 
human affairs, or the minor ones which have added so much to 
our comforts and luxuries, and widened the enjoyment of them, 
are to be ranked among the gifts of science, or that they have 
been made generally by scientific mem I As striking instances 
of the former class, take gunpowder, the mariner's compass, 
and the printing-press ; " for these three," says Bacon, " have 
changed the whole face and state of things throughout the 
world, — the one in literature, another in warfare, and a third 
in navigation, — whence have followed innumerable changes ; 
insomuch that no empire, no sect, no star, seems to have exerted 
greater power and influence in human affairs than these me- 
chanical inventions." But Bacon himself notices the curious 
fact, that the origin of all three, though recent in his day, is 
"obscure and inglorious." In fact, two of them were mere 
lucky accidents, made we know not positively where or by 
whom, certainly not by any one of scientific pretensions, as the 
legend which attributes the invention of gunpowder to Friar 
Bacon, or another monk, Berth old Schwarz, is wholly unde- 
serving of credit. Printing was only a lucky thought which oc- 
curred almost simultaneously to two or three rude mechanics. 



BUCKLE'S HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION. 281 

There was nothing to put a person of scientific habits of mind 
upon the track of either invention, nothing to incite or guide 
his inquiry. As De Maistre says, the means of making a great 
discovery generally have no apparent connection with that dis- 
covery ; and the illustration which he gives of this remark is 
furnished by Lord Bacon himself. If Archimedes and a dozen 
others, equally eminent in science, had been asked to invent an 
engine for beating down the ramparts of a city without coming 
within two or three hundred yards of them, they would have 
been entirely at fault, or would have thought only of some 
mode of improving the ancient catapult. But there comes 
along an obscure monk, who says, " Triturate and mix together 
sulphur, saltpetre, and charcoal;" — and the thing is done. 
So, also, if twenty scientific physicians had been required, a 
century ago, to invent some means of extirpating the small- 
pox, they could not have hit upon anything better than to ask 
the sovereigns of Europe to cause all their subjects to be in- 
oculated by compulsion. Certainly, nothing short of divina- 
tion could have sent them to the cows for a solution of the 
problem. Again, was it science that gave us Peruvian bark, 
ipecacuanha, mercury, or even sulphuric ether as an anaesthetic 
agent ? Or was it rather such experimentation as that of an 
Indian doctor or conjuror, an African Obiman, or an English 
Merry- Andrew ? The only real question is, whether such dis- 
coveries are due to what is called a lucky chance, or to that 
merciful Providence which, in ways unseen by men, often over- 
rules folly and selfishness, by rendering them instruments of 
good. 

If we turn to the minor inventions which have aided the ac- 
cumulation of wealth and enhanced our material well-being, we 
still find that we are indebted for most of them either to a fort- 
unate accident, or to the practical skill of some ingenious me- 
chanic, whose school-education, perhaps, barely enabled him to 
write his name. After the workman has invented the machine 
or the process, science usually steps in, and, more or less suc- 
cessfully, explains the nature of the improvement, points out 
the physical laws that are concerned in it, and often uses it as 
a guide in its own future investigations. Sometimes it is un- 
able to supply even this poor commentary, and the process con- 



282 THE PHILOSOPHICAL EADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

tinues to be empirical and inexplicable. Thus the mode of 
vulcanizing India-rubber, one of vast importance in the arts, 
offers an insoluble problem to the chemist. He cannot tell 
why heating and rubbing together caoutchouc and sulphur 
should produce an entirely new substance, — a tertium quid, 
having other and far more valuable properties than either of 
its ingredients. So in many of the processes for manufacturing 
iron, the means have no apparent connection with the end ; 
the chemist measures the results, but cannot tell how or why 
they are produced. The eminent professors of science who lect- 
ured upon the results of the Great Exhibition in London in 
1851 seemed to manifest " an uneasy consciousness of the ex- 
tent of the workman's knowledge, — almost a doubt whether 
it was not for the workman to teach them, rather than for 
them to teach the workman." Dr. Black, one of the greatest 
of modern chemists, remarks, somewhere in his Lectures, that 
most of the chemical discoveries which have greatly benefited 
the arts are due to the manipulations of skilful operatives, 
rather than to what is called science or chemical philosophy. 
Many products of the useful arts were obtained by the ancients 
in as great perfection as by men of our own day; the article 
has profited nothing by the experience and the science of two 
thousand years. One of the lecturers just referred to says, " If 
Simon, the tanner of Joppa, had been able to send leather to 
the Exhibition, no doubt he would have carried off a medal." 

The inventors of the spinning-jenny were a Birmingham 
mechanic, a common laborer, and a barber's apprentice. Nearly 
all of the improvements in the steam-engine were made by un- 
educated mechanics, and they were constantly in advance of 
the science of their day. The most distinguished among them 
were Savery, a head miner ; Newcomen, a blacksmith ; Cawley, 
a glazier ; and Humphrey Potter, an idle little boy. Watt's 
modifications of the machine have greater scientific pretensions ; 
but he was only a half-taught instrument-maker when he con- 
trived them, and many of them have now gone out of use, as 
practical men have found the engine which was employed be- 
fore his day to be not only more simple, but more efficient and 
economical. Fitch, Fulton, and Hulls divide between them 
the honors of steam navigation, neither of them having any 
scientific attainments to boast of. 



buckle's history of civilization. 283 

Mr. Buckle attributes to the progress of knowledge the dim- 
inution of " the two greatest evils known to mankind,' , — 
religious persecution and the practice of war. Morality and 
religion, he affirms, have nursed and exasperated the former, 
and done nothing towards diminishing the latter ; while the 
influence of intellectual discoveries has vanquished both. "We 
join issue with him on all these points. Both the evils in 
question proceed from the passions rather than the judgment. 
Men need to be calmed and pacified, not to be instructed or 
argued with, in order to induce them to remain at peace or to 
tolerate difference of opinion. It is a sentiment rather than 
a conviction, — an instinctive recoil of our moral and humane 
feelings, instead of a perception of new truths, — which has 
stopped the practice of torture, whether inflicted for political 
or ecclesiastical purposes. The rack and the thumb-screw 
have gone out of use, because the increased humanity of these 
later times shuddered at the very sight of them ; and the bit- 
terness of religious disputes has in great measure ceased, be- 
cause men now think less of the dogmas, and more of the 
practice, of Christianity. For a century after the Reforma- 
tion, religious persecution was rife, as the angry feelings con- 
sequent on that great schism raged and were embittered by 
the political changes that grew out of it, and because men 
were cruel. As the strife cooled, and experience showed the 
inutility of coercive measures, the voice of humanity and the 
mild precepts of the Gospel were again heard and respected. 
Manners were softened, and men ceased to persecute one 
another under the same impulses and feelings which led them 
to improve prisons, erect almshouses and hospitals, abolish 
the slave-trade, and send out missions to the heathen. Mere 
science, the mere progress of discovery and invention, con- 
tributed as little to this result as to the first promulgation of 
Christianity. It is impossible to see how it should have had 
any effect on either. 

As to the practice of war, Mr. Buckle hazarded his assertion 
of its rapid decline a little too soon. Writing in 1855, he 
says : " It is highly characteristic of the actual condition 01 
society, that a peace of unexampled length should have been 
broken, not as former peaces were broken, by a quarrel be- 



284 THE PHILOSOPHICAL KADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

tween two civilized nations, but by the encroachments of the 
uncivilized Russians on the still more uncivilized Turks." 
This is an ingenious statement of the case, made to conceal 
the fact, known to all the world, that Turkey was only a nomi- 
nal partner in the strife, only a pretext for it, and that the 
real contest was between France and England, two of the most 
civilized nations on the earth, on the one hand, and Russia on 
the other, the prize for the victor being the possession of Con- 
stantinople. " Russia is a warlike country," we are told, " not 
because the inhabitants are immoral, but because they are un- 
intellectual." But the inhabitants of Russia, taken as a mass, 
have no more voice or influence in determining between war 
and peace, than they have in guiding the course of the planets. 
The sovereign, the nobility, and the higher officers of the 
army, made the war ; and these are as civilized, as enlight- 
ened, as " intellectual," — to copy our author's pet phrase, — 
as any court in Europe. 

And as to the decline of war, what has been the history of 
the ten years which followed, what our author calls the forty 
years of peace, 1815-1855, — a peace broken only by a war in 
Afghanistan, one in Scinde, one in China, one in Mexico, one 
in Holstein, one in Hungary, two in North Italy, one in Rome, 
and about half a dozen revolutions, attended with more or 
less bloodshed, in the most civilized nations of Europe. The 
last ten years [before 1865] have witnessed the Crimean war, 
the war of the Indian mutiny, a second war in China, the 
war of France, Sardinia, and Austria in Lombardy, Gari- 
baldi's war in Sicily, Sardinia's conquest of Naples and the 
Roman provinces, and the fearful civil war which raged in 
our own unhappy country. And at the present moment, also, 
France and England are vying with each other in prepara- 
tions for war on the largest scale, and a terrible contest is 
impending in Hungary and Venetia. The decline of war ! 
Search the annals of the world, and we doubt if a period of 
equal length can be found which has witnessed so terrible an 
outbreak of the warlike spirit as that which has characterized 
the last twenty years ending in 1865. Terrible as the con- 
test was which terminated in 1815, it was, in the main, a 
struggle of all Europe against one man. 



buckle's history of civilization. 285 

Mr. Buckle attributes his fancied decay of the desire for 
war to the march of intellect generally, but specially to the 
invention of gunpowder, the discoveries made by political 
economy, and the improved means of locomotion. Now, 
gunpowder came into general use about four centuries ago ; 
and during this time it may well be doubted if there have 
been fewer wars, or less bloodshed, than in the four centuries 
immediately preceding. Economical science has not discov- 
ered a single truth which tends to increase the desire for 
peace ; it has merely furnished some additional illustrations 
of the costliness of war, which would have more effect if na- 
tions fought from motives of interest, and not from considera- 
tions of honor, jealousy, anger, revenge, and other turbulent 
passions. No further proof was needed that war is always a 
costly, often a ruinous, expedient. The quarrels of nations, 
like those of individuals, grow out of their ill-regulated pas- 
sions ; and these can be checked and restrained, not by con- 
siderations addressed to the intellect, but, if at all, by the 
teachings of morality and religion. These last have greatly 
humanized war ; they have ameliorated the fate of captives, 
forbidden the use of poison and other savage expedients, pro- 
tected the property and lives of non-combatants on land, and 
are on the point of putting an end to privateering, which is 
only another name for piracy, at sea. And this is all that is 
possible, until mankind have become, not wiser, but better. 
Never was a war more obviously and ruinously destructive of 
all public and private interest than that into which the South- 
ern States of this Union blindly plunged. But to oppose the 
madness of Secession by considerations drawn from political 
economy or constitutional law is like preaching to a tornado. 
The tempest must blow itself out. Only when the wind has 
lulled can the voice of reason or the whispers of conscience be 
heard. 

But the rambling and desultory character of Mr. Buckle's 
work has protracted the task of following him, and our re- 
marks are already extended to undue length, before a tithe of 
his errors and fallacies have been exposed and refuted. We 
have dwelt mainly upon the principles on which his History is 
based, as an attempt to trace their application in detail would 



286 THE PHILOSOPHICAL RADICALS IN ENGLAND. 

far exceed our limits. And yet the absurdity of the conclu- 
sions to which he is led furnishes, perhaps, the best proof of 
the erroneousness of his method and the falsity of his prem- 
ises. The whole of his second volume is devoted to an elabo- 
rate examination of the history of Spain and of Scotland, in 
the hope of proving that superstition is always rife where vol- 
canoes and earthquakes are common ; — that, in fact, it owes 
its origin to these and other startling phenomena of nature, 
and that it can never be exposed and put down by the employ- 
ment of the deductive method of reasoning. This is rather a 
meagre result of an inquiry extending so far, and conducted 
with so much pretension. And, as a doctrine, it is simply 
ludicrous. Never did a poor pedant, bitten with the love of 
theorizing, ride so far afield, in order to bring home a paltry 
and absurd conclusion. We should almost suspect the sanity 
of one who seriously entertained it. If it were true, the in- 
habitants of Iceland, a country surpassing every other on the 
globe in the grandeur and striking character of its physical 
phenomena, made inaccessible by enormous ice-fields for most 
of the year, often shaken by terrible earthquakes, mailed in 
sheets of lava and studded with active volcanoes, ought to be 
the most superstitious race on earth. Unfortunately for Mr. 
Buckle's theory, they happen to be a peculiarly sober, indus- 
trious, intellectual, well-educated, Christian people, — cer- 
tainly much less superstitious than the inhabitants of the vast 
sun-scorched plains of Hindostan, where nature offers only a 
wearisome monotony to the beholder. Again, Scotland is 
troubled neither by earthquakes nor volcanoes. True, it has 
mists, and mountains, and severe winters, in which Mr. 
Buckle's theory, faute de mieux, takes refuge ; but its near 
neighbor, Norway, has precisely the same characteristics, and 
the Norwegians are not peculiarly superstitious. 

Then the elaborate attempt to prove that science in Scotland 
has made an excessive use of the deductive method is an utter 
failure. Adam Smith did not make half as much use of this 
kind of reasoning as Malthus and Ricardo did ; indeed, it is 
chiefly owing to the latter, an English Jew, that English polit- 
ical economy has become a deductive science. As a speculatist, 
Hume makes more use of facts and less of abstract reasoning 



buckle's histoky of civilization. 287 

than Hobbes ; the latter is a system-maker, and the former a 
destroyer of systems. Leslie, as a writer on heat, relies much 
more on experimentation and induction than Fourier. In 
chemistry, as compared with Dalton, Lavoisier, or Davy, Dr. 
Black must be regarded as eminently an inductive philosopher. 
But enough of details, in which the task of exposing Mr. 
Buckle's blunders would be endless. We have spoken with 
freedom and severity of his work, because its tone and ten- 
dency are bad. With considerable merits of literary execu- 
tion, it is characterized in a remarkable degree by arrogant 
pretensions, a dogmatic spirit, coarseness of expression, and a 
contemptuous disregard of the feelings and opinions which a 
vast majority of the author's countrymen hold sacred. Under 
the guise of a history, its only aim is to teach the preconceived 
conclusions of a false and debasing philosophy. If these con- 
clusions were sound, man would be an animated machine, 
not accountable for his actions, and without either hopes or 
fears extending beyond this brief sphere of earthly existence. 
Rashness of assertion and inconsequence of reasoning are 
what we expected to find in the statement and defence of such 
doctrines ; and in this expectation we have not been disap- 
pointed. 



JOHN S. MILL'S EXAMINATION OF 
SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON'S PHILOSOPHY. 

FROM THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN REVIEW FOR APRIL AND JULY, 1869. 

Indirectly, Mr Mill's " Examination of Sir W. Hamilton's 
Philosophy " has been of great service to metaphysical science. 
It has stimulated inquiry and discussion, and given a fresh 
interest to the investigation of old problems. Through the 
cloud of replies, examinations, and criticisms which it has 
evoked, it has even contributed largely to the establishment 
of sound doctrine. After all, Mr. Mill's book was not more 
an attempted refutation of Sir W. Hamilton's philosophy, than 
an exposition and defence of his own system of metaphysics. 
He thus gained a slight advantage in the outset; since the phi- 
losophy which he attacked was made responsible, by impli- 
cation at least, for any errors or defects discoverable in his ad- 
versary's statement of it ; while his own system was apparently 
strengthened by every such exposure of the seeming weakness 
of its rival. But an advantage of this sort is soon lost ; Sir 
W. Hamilton's part in the controversy is fast slipping out of 
notice, and Mr. Mill's own system has become the target 
against which most of the shots are now directed. In the first 
edition of his book, he appeared as an assailant ; in the third, 
he stands on the defensive against a host of opponents. 

As a critic, Mr. Mill is disposed to be just and candid. We 
cannot call him generous ; for he ought, before frequently 
charging his opponent with inconsistency and self-contradic- 
tion, to have kept more constantly in view the fact, which in- 
deed is stated in the first chapter of his book, that Hamilton's 
system was given to the world only in fragments, at long in- 
tervals, during the last twenty-seven years of a busy life ; and 
that his " Lectures," the only approach to a consecutive ex- 
position of it, were a posthumous publication of what was 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 289 

probably never intended by him for any other use than as 
manuscript notes, though they were printed after his death 
nearly as they were first written by him some twenty years 
before. Extracts from these Lectures, written in 1836, ought 
not to have been compared, so frequently to his disadvantage, 
with statements of his more matured opinions made in his 
edition of Reid in 1846, or in his " Discussions," which 
passed to a second edition in 1853. Hamilton was eminently 
a progressive student and a candid and independent thinker, 
who never dreaded the imputation of a change of opinion, or 
shrank from modifying a statement which appeared to his 
calmer thought ill-judged or excessive. His philosophy can be 
fairly estimated only from his own latest published exposition 
of it, the second edition of his " Discussions ; " or, if these are 
compared with his edition of Reid, it should be, not for the 
purpose of charging him with inconsistent opinions or in- 
coherent thought, but to show the gradual development of his 
doctrines in his own mind. For his Lectures, we are per- 
suaded that, during the last ten years of his life, he would 
have declined to consider himself as at all responsible, since 
they were hurriedly written at the outset, each Lecture, as the 
Editors tell us, being " usually written on the day, or, more 
properly, on the evening and night, preceding its delivery ; " 
" they never were revised by him with any view to publica- 
tion ; " and the manuscripts probably were not destroyed only 
because "he intended to make some use of portions of them, 
which had not been incorporated in his other writings, in the 
promised ' Supplementary Dissertations to Reid's Works.' " 
Mr. Mill himself observes, " one of the unfairest, though com- 
monest, tricks of controversy is that of directing the attack ex- 
clusively against the first crude form of a doctrine." We do 
not believe Mr. Mill ever consciously violated this sound princi- 
ple ; but if he had always remembered it, he would have with- 
drawn, or essentially modified, several passages in the third 
and eighth chapters of his book. No fair opponent will now 
hold him responsible for those statements in his first edition, 
which he has silently altered, or avowedly abandoned, in the 
third. 

It is curious that neither Mr. Mill nor any of his critics 

19 



290 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

seems to have been aware that " the Philosophy of the Con- 
ditioned " was Hamilton's only by adoption, since it is at least 
two centuries old. There cannot be a more distinct and for- 
cible exposition of this Philosophy than is presented in the 
eloquent fragments which constitute the " JPensees " of Pascal. 
Mr. Mill only skirmishes on the outskirts of the subject, when 
he makes an elaborate attempt to proye that Hamilton's dis- 
cussion of it confounds three distinct meanings of the word 
conception ; we can hardly believe that he is serious in thus 
raising a dust which only obscures the question. And a simi- 
lar doubt, whether he is in earnest, will intrude, when we find 
him gravely affirming that " we cannot conceive two and two 
as five, because an inseparable association compels us to con- 
ceive it as four ; " and that we cannot conceive two straight 
lines as inclosing a space, because " the mental image of two 
straight lines which have once met, is inseparably associated 
with the representation of them as diverging." It is rather 
hard to believe that a mathematician has no better reason for 
afiirming either of these truths, than a French rustic has for 
persistently calling a cabbage a chou, or an English peasant 
for invariably denominating it a cabbage. The etymology of 
the word con-capio indicates clearly enough, that to conceive 
means to grasp together attributes in a unity of presentation 
before the mind, — that is, to individualize them by an act of 
imagination. Of course, the attempt to do this must fail, 
either when there are no attributes, except negative ones, to 
be grasped together, as is the case with the Infinite, or with 
pure Being (Seyn ist nichts) ; or when the elements thus 
brought into juxtaposition absolutely refuse to coalesce into a 
single image, as in the case of a " round square." So, also, 
images of an inclosed space and of two straight lines, or of 
two and two and of five, will not flow into one ; and this in- 
capacity of union is just as obvious the first time we form dis- 
tinct images of them as the last, the frequency of making the 
trial having nothing to do with the firmness of our conviction 
that the result cannot be attained. Yet Mr. Mill maintains 
that " we should probably have no difficulty in putting to- 
gether the two ideas supposed to be incompatible, if our ex- 
perience had not first inseparably associated one of them with 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 291 

the contradictory of the other " ; that is, the only reason why 
we cannot believe that two and two are five, is that we have 
been uniformly accustomed to think that they are four ! Surely 
this is empiricism run mad, since it is more than the stoutest 
advocate of the doctrine, that all our knowledge of real things 
is derived from experience, needs to affirm. Experience itself 
is only an aggregate of intuitions ; and if any one of these, 
taken singly, is not valid, the whole must be worthless. If a 
single intuition in imagination does not convince us that two 
and two are four — i. e., are not five — then are we incompetent 
to affirm, on the like basis of a single intuition, that scarlet 
and crimson are both red — i. e., are not blue or yellow. The 
compatibility or incompatibility of two given attributes with 
each other is a universal truth, even a necessary and immut- 
able truth, which is often grasped quite as firmly through a 
single intuition as through a multitude of experiments ; most 
of the primary truths of mathematics are of this character. 
But we cannot affirm any attribute generally of a whole class 
of real entities or existing things — e. g., that all matter is 
heavy — except on the basis of multiplied experience ; and such 
affirmation remains, at best, only a contingent truth. It is 
still possible that it should be falsified by further experience. 
Mr. Mill admits that " we are unable to conceive an end to 
space ; " but accounts for this want of power in his usual way, 
not by any inherent incapacity, but solely by the empirical 
fact, that " we have never perceived any object, or any portion 
of space, which had not other space beyond it. And we have 
been perceiving objects and portions of space from the moment 
of birth." Very well ; so, also, we have never perceived any 
particular body, or aggregate of matter, which had not some 
other body near it. At least, it had near it the ground which 
it rested on, or the atmosphere in which it floated. Are we 
therefore unable to conceive a body absolutely isolated, — 
hanging, for instance, as many conceive the universe to do, in 
an otherwise void inane ? Mr. Mill is the last person who 
ought to affirm such isolation to be inconceivable ; for, as we 
shall endeavor to show, his own " Psychological Theory of 
Mind " leaves him, the author of it, just in this state of un- 
comfortable loneliness, without a being to talk to, or an earth 



292 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

to rest upon, except his own sensations. Of course, he will 
reject this inference from his theory ; since he is not so dar- 
ingly consistent as his prototypes, Hume and Fichte, by both 
of whom it is frankly admitted. But he surely will not so far 
disclaim kindred with them as to assert that their hypotheses 
are not only unfounded, but inconceivable. He is but a tyro 
in metaphysics, who cannot so far enter into the scheme of 
Absolute Idealism, or Pantheism, as to be able to conceive 
The One as existing to the exclusion of all else. 

While thus admitting that we cannot conceive an end to 
space, Mr. Mill strives to escape from Hamilton's dilemma, by 
affirming that our conception of Infinite Space is a real con- 
ception ; that it " is both real and perfectly definite " ; that 
" we possess it as completely as we possess any of our clearest, 
conceptions, and can avail ourselves of it as well for ulterior 
mental operations." He seems to limit this assertion, indeed, 
by admitting that the conception is " not adequate ; " but this 
limitation amounts to nothing, in view either of the passage 
which we have just italicized, or of the assertion which he im- 
mediately volunteers, that " we never have an adequate con- 
ception of any real thing." But his doctrine, as thus explained, 
involves him in a worse difficulty than that which he strove 
to shun. The want of experience, he tells us, is all that pre- 
vents us from conceiving space as infinite. Ought not, then, a 
corresponding want of experience to prevent us from conceiv- 
ing space as finite ? Or does Mr. Mill intend to maintain 
the not very intelligible proposition, that finite man has had 
experience of Infinite Space as Infinite ? 

As already remarked, we hold that Infinite Space, like Pure 
Being, is inconceivable from the first of the two reasons men- 
tioned, — namely, from the want of any attributes, except 
negative ones, to be grasped together. Mr. Mill says it is con- 
ceivable. Will he inform us under what attributes he con- 
ceives it, whether as a pyramid, a cube, a sphere, or what 
other shape ? whether as regular or irregular in outline, flexi- 
ble or stiff, movable or immovable, colored or colorless ? If 
it has none of these qualities, but is characterized only by the 
absence of all of them, will he tell us how a conception of 
something which has no limits, no shape, no consistence, no 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 293 

mobility and no color, can still be "perfectly definite/' pos- 
sessed " as completely as we possess any of our clearest con- 
ceptions " ? The question is an interesting one, as Mr. Mill 
is an ultra-Nominalist, thoroughly committed to the doctrine 
that a " Concept cannot exist in the mind except enveloped 
in the miscellaneous attributes of an individual ; " that it must 
be such as to be depicted to sense or imagination, since " the 
existence of Abstract Ideas — the conception of the class- 
qualities by themselves, and not as embodied in an individual 
— is effectually precluded by the law of Inseparable Associa- 
tion." He does tell us that, in order to conceive Infinite Space, 
we have to " think away only the idea of an end or a boun- 
dary." So far, then, it is merely a negative idea, since we only 
know what it is not. Let him then decide how definite a con- 
ception he can give of color to a congenitally blind person, by 
informing him that it is not sound ; or of sound to one who 
has never heard one, by saying that it is not color. It is only 
putting the difficulty in other words to say, that the con- 
genitally blind cannot have any definite conception even of 
the absence of color, or the congenitally deaf of the absence of 
sound. Nay, according to Mr. Mill's own law of Inseparable 
Association, since all the objects within our experience have 
an end and a boundary, we cannot even conceive of that which 
has neither. 

It is a transparent paralogism to urge, as Mr. Mill does, that 
we can even have a positive conception of Infinite Space, be- 
cause we leave to it some positive attributes ; — "we leave to 
it the character of space ; all that belongs to it as space ; its 
three dimensions," etc. The only question is, whether we can 
think Space as Infinite ; and this is not answered by predi- 
cating certain qualities of Space as Finite, since the possession 
of these does not at all discriminate the Infinite from the Fi- 
nite, which is the very thing that we are called upon to do. 
Mr. Mill simply tells us that space is space, whether it is Fi- 
nite or Infinite ; — which is not very important information in 
any respect, and not all to the purpose in our present inquiry. 
It is not even true, that we leave to the conception of Infinite 
Space " all that belongs to it as space ; " for space consists of 
parts, while Infinite Space has no parts. If it had, the addi- 



294 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

tion or abstraction of a finite part would increase or diminish 
infinity, which is impossible ; and the very phrase, an infinite 
part, is a contradiction in terms. 

We come now to the doctrine of the Relativity of Knowl- 
edge, a doctrine which has been presented under so many forms 
and in so many degrees, that a full discussion of it would carry 
us over nearly the whole ground of metaphysics. As under- 
stood by Mill, the Relativity seems to be tantamount to the 
Uncertainty of knowledge, and not merely to a limitation of it 
to the sphere of phenomena. But we would inquire, whether 
the existence of the phenomena themselves, as phenomena, or 
as appearances either in our minds, or somewhere else, and as 
relative to us or to our consciousness, is not certainly, and even 
absolutely, known ? Do we not know them immediately and 
absolutely, — as they are in themselves, or in their several 
characteristics, being distinguishable from each other both in 
quantity and quality, since they have distinct attributes and 
qualities ? Wherein, then, is the alleged inconsistency be- 
tween the doctrine of the Relativity of Knowledge, and that of 
Real Presentationism, or immediate intuition of the Primary 
Qualities of body, these Qualities being directly presented to 
us — that is, being phenomenally known — as forms of the Non- 
Ego ? 

How do you know that your own sensations exist, or are 
actual ? Why, because we have an immediate or presentative 
knowledge of them, as phenomena of our own minds, — that is, 
as mere subjective affections. But do we therefore have an 
absolute knowledge of them as such ? If Mr. Mill says Yes, 
then he rejects that doctrine of Relativity which is equivalent 
to denying the Certainty of our intuitive knowledge of phe- 
nomena. If he says No, then there is an immediate, which is 
not an absolute, knowledge ; and the whole ground for this 
particular criticism on Hamilton disappears. 

But it is urged that the phenomena of sensation and emo- 
tion are " perceived or felt as facts that have no reality out of 
us ; " while the phenomena of solidity and extension are " al- 
leged to be perceived as facts whose reality is out of our minds 
and in the material object." What of that ? Our present 
question is, not whether these qualities really exist externally^ 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 295 

just in the mode under which they appear or are presented to 
our minds ; but whether they are presented to us as so existing. 
We are now asking — What these perceptions affirm, and in 
what manner they affirm it : — and not — Whether they affirm 
it truly. The phenomena of internal sensations and emotions, 
such as appetite, pain, and sorrow, appear or manifest them- 
selves as mere subjective affections ; the phenomena of ex- 
ternal perception, on the other hand, announce themselves 
through consciousness as modes of the Non-Ego intuitively 
apprehended ; — that is, as a direct and immediate, and not 
merely a vicarious or representative, knowledge of the quali- 
ties of external things. That they manifest themselves in this 
manner, — the former as subjective, and the latter as object- 
ive, — will hardly be denied even by those who affirm such 
manifestation to be illusive, — a mere simulacrum, in the lat- 
ter case, of outness and objectivity. Neither will it be denied 
that the apprehension of the subjective and objective modes 
is equally immediate. When touched or pressed by some 
foreign substance simultaneously, or in quick succession, on 
two separate portions of the surface of my body at an appre- 
ciable distance from each other, — as on the shoulder and the 
hip, — I am directly conscious of the difference between here 
and there, and thus intuitively apprehend the extension of my 
own body, and the solidity of the substance in contact with it. 
Even if I am asleep and only dream of such impressions made 
upon me, still I do dream of them as such, — namely, as ob- 
jective and external affections immediately perceived. But my 
knowledge of them as objective is only relative, as I shall find 
on awakening from the dream. We affirm, then, that the doc- 
trine of the Relativity of Knowledge is perfectly reconcilable 
with that of Natural Realism, or the immediate perception of 
the Primary Qualities of body. 

Mr. Mill vainly puzzles himself over Hamilton's often re- 
peated assertions, that Extension and Solidity are known 
" immediately in themselves" and not merely " in their effects 
on us ; " and that they are " apprehended as they are in 
bodies, and not, like the Secondary, as they are in us." Very 
true ! They are known or apprehended BY us as such, or un- 
der that character. Whether they really possess that charac- 



296 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

ter, apart from their appearance under the form of it to our 
minds, is another question. Our present inquiry concerns 
only the mode of their presentation to our minds, or of their 
apprehension by our consciousness, and does not even touch 
the point, how they are apprehended by minds differently 
constituted — for instance, by the Infinite Mind. Natural 
Realism, as we understand it, does not necessarily conflict with 
Berkeleyan Idealism, or with Malebranche's doctrine that we 
see all things in God ; though it certainly deprives those theo- 
ries of some portion of their plausibility. It does conflict 
sharply with that dreary form of Idealism — more properly 
called Egoism, or Nihilism — which leaves a solitary " thread 
of consciousness " alone in the universe, acknowledging no 
power of efficient causation either in itself or out of itself, and 
reducing the universe, in fact, to a mere string of sensations 
following each other in a fatalistic connection, without begin- 
ning, end, or purpose. 

The doctrine that the Primary Qualities are apprehended 
" immediately in themselves" and not merely " in their effects 
on us," will not appear irreconcilable with the assertion, that 
our knowledge of them is only Relative, to any one who con- 
siders the two perfectly distinct meanings of the phrase here 
italicized. 

1. To know a thing immediately in itself is to be distin- 
guished from knowing it only through an image or represen- 
tation of itself ; the former is knowing it per se, the latter, 
per aliud. An instance of the former is my consciousness of 
present pain ; of the latter, my remembrance of a former pain. 

2. To know a thing immediately in itself is also to be dis- 
tinguished from knowing it only as it is in relation to our 
faculties. The former — if it were a possible cognition, which 
it is not — would be of the Ding an sich, the noumenon ; the 
latter is only of the phenomenon. 

The doctrine of Natural Realism adopts the former of these 
two meanings ; it teaches that the Primary Qualities are 
known in themselves immediately, but not absolutely. Mr. 
Mill fails to distinguish the two, and, through his own confu- 
sion of thought, attributes a blunder to the philosopher whom 
he is criticising. For we maintain that this is not merely a 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 29T 

possible interpretation of Hamilton's language, but that it is 
clearly, and we bad almost said unmistakably, bis meaning. 
Witness the two following passages from the Dissertations 
Supplementary to Reid : — 

" In the act of sensible perception, I am conscious of two things — 
of myself as the 'perceiving subject, and of an external reality, in rela- 
tion with my sense, as the object perceived. Of the existence of both 
these things I am convinced ; because I am conscious of knowing each 
of them, not mediately in something else, as represented, but immedi- 
ately in itself, as existing. Of their mutual independence I am no less 
convinced, because each is apprehended equally and at pnce, in the 
same indivisible energy, the one not preceding or determining, the 
other not following or determined ; and because each is apprehended 
out of, and in direct contrast to, the other." 

Here we are told what we are conscious of, and how the two 
things are apprehended. Our conviction of the fact of their 
actual existence is rightly stated merely as an inference from 
this their mode of manifestation to us — which inference, of 
course, though it may be called knowledge, is only relative 
knowledge. But that there may be no mistake on this point, 
Hamilton soon adds this explanation : — 

" I have frequently asserted, that in perception we are conscious of 
the external object immediately and in itself. This is the doctrine of 
Natural Realism. But in saying that a thing is known in itself, I do 
not mean that this object is known in its absolute existence, that is, 
out of relation to us. This is impossible ; for our knowledge is only of 
the relative. To know a tiling in itself or immediately, is an expres- 
sion I use merely in contrast to the knowledge of a thing in a representa- 
tion, or mediately. On this doctrine, an external quality is said to be 
known in itself, when it is known as the immediate and necessary cor- 
relative of an internal quality of which I am conscious I can- 
not be conscious of myself as the resisted relative, without at the same 
time being conscious, being immediately percipient, of a not-self as the 
resisting correlative. In this cognition there is no sensation, no sub- 
jectivo-organic affection. I simply know myself as a force in energy, 
the not-self as a counter force in energy." 

We may well Wonder how language so explicit as this could 
be misunderstood by a philosopher of so much acuteness as Mr. 
Mill. 



298 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

The final sentence of this last extract is an admirably clear 
and simple statement of that fact of consciousness, in which 
we are assured both of our own existence as exerting force, or 
putting forth inborn power, and of its correlative, a counter 
force exerted against us by something which is not ourselves. 
The most distinct manifestation which we have of Self is this 
consciousness of the exertion of our own force ; not the mere 
sensation of muscular strain, for that comes afterwards, and is 
contingent on the healthy action of the nervous and muscular 
organism. It is the direct perception of mental effort which 
constitutes what Hamilton calls " the enorganic volition ; " 
not the " hyperorganic," which is merely meditating the act 
before willing it ; nor the " organic," which is only contingent, 
because it may be frustrated by paralysis of the nerves, and is 
empiric, since it can be known only after experience. But the 
enorganic is the true nisus — the act itself, which is free, be- 
cause neither external force nor inward temptation can elicit 
or check it ; and, hence, it is this alone for which conscience 
holds us responsible. Man first becomes fully conscious of him- 
self in this exercise of his free activity ; because mere thought 
is passive, being subject to a law, that of the association of 
ideas, which is beyond his control. His will alone escapes 
law, mocks at external compulsion, and riots in the sense of its 
own freedom. The Cartesian axiom understates the truth, 
and should be modified ; not mere thought, but volition, first 
fully reveals man to himself. When this free volition becomes 
organic, or is manifested externally through the muscles, it 
soon encounters resistance from without, or an external force 
counteracting it ; and in this we first cognize the Not-Self, 
which we call material, though the fact that it, too, manifests 
force, induced Berkeley to consider it as spiritual. Hence, the 
only form of Idealism which escapes the dreary conclusion of 
Egoism — which does not leave the Idealist alone in the uni- 
verse — is the Berkeleyan. The Ego finds itself inclosed, and 
the exercise of its free activity restricted, within the limits of 
that covering of flesh in which it is, at least in idea, impris- 
oned ; though within these limits, it " spreads undivided, oper- 
ates unspent," in every fibre and atom. Through the numer- 
ous points of contact and resistance between the internal and 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 299 

the external force which this embodiment supplies, and through 
its instinctive recognition of the difference between these points 
as here and there, Self becomes conscious of the extension of 
its own body, and hence, at once, of externality and the free 
space within which this body acts. As immediately appre- 
hended by consciousness, matter is known only as a counter 
force in energy within certain limits of extension ; and this 
spiritualized conception of it physicists themselves, on grounds 
afforded by their own science, are fast adopting with singular 
unanimity. 

As contrasted with this clear and simple doctrine, Mr. Mill's 
Psychological Theory of Matter and Mind appears to us, we 
must confess, an elaborate failure. Misled by " the fatal 
charms of the goddess Necessity," to whose pursuit he has ad- 
hered with wonderful fidelity, he wanders far afield, and sits 
down at last hopelessly bewildered, in full view of phenom- 
ena, which, as he is obliged to admit, are on his theory en- 
tirely inexplicable. " So much the worse for them ! " He pre- 
fers to leave the facts unexplained, rather than abandon his 
theory. A pretty cool admission this, in view of the grave 
rebuke which he soon administers to Hamilton, by declaring 
that "he is not entitled to frame a theory from one class of 
phenomena, extend it to another class which it does not fit, 
and excuse himself by saying, that if we cannot make it fit, 
it is because ultimate facts are inexplicable." 

Denying any efficient causation, and resolving even the idea 
of Cause into mere uniformity of sequence, his " groups " of 
Sensations, and "Permanent Possibilities of Sensation," remain 
obstinately subjective, and refuse to assume even a decent sem- 
blance of a thinking Self, or of external realities. Each one 
testifies only to the fact of its own individual existence ; and 
it does even this only in some unexplained and incomprehen- 
sible way. Rejecting, also, the idea of Substance, and explain- 
ing away our fancied notion of it into a mere Indissoluble As- 
sociation, formed by long and uninterrupted habit, between 
certain Sensations always recurring near each other and in a 
fixed order, even his " groups " have only a factitious unity, and 
resolve themselves, under the keen eye of the analytical reason, 
into a mere heap of dry sand without any real cement to bind 



300 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

the particles together. After making these large admissions, 
and also after being hard pressed by his critics, we are not sur- 
prised to find him driven at last to the frank confession, that 
he does " not believe that the real externality to us of any- 
thing, except other minds, is capable of proof." Whether, upon 
the principles of his own theory, the exception here made is a 
valid one, is a point for subsequent consideration. Meanwhile 
it is to be remarked, that the objective reality of Space itself 
is negatived by denying outness, which is its necessary condi- 
tion. He admits, also, that " he has never pretended to ac- 
count by association for the idea of Time," as he believes that 
the facts of simultaneity and succession are all that his theory 
needs to postulate. 

He must be an intrepid reasoner, who still maintains the 
sufficiency of a method which leads to these disastrously neg- 
ative results. These are the legitimate consequences of what 
Mr. Mill calls the " Psychological Method," which attempts to 
account for our supposed cognitions of Matter and Mind by re- 
solving both into a mere series of sensations, which is, in some 
inexplicable manner, conscious of itself as a series, and the 
various parts of which tend, under the law of the association 
of ideas, to coalesce into groups. He challenges a compar- 
ison of this mode of procedure with the Hamiltonian, which he 
calls the Introspective Method — though it would be more 
properly called the Intuitive, since it asserts an immediate or 
intuitive cognition of both these realities, as original facts of 
consciousness. As the Psychological Method resolves both 
Matter and Mind into mere groups of sensations, we are not 
surprised to find such "metaphysical entities," or abstractions, 
as Cause, Power, Substance, Externality, Time, and Space, 
disappearing along with them ; disappearing not only in fact, 
as unproved, but even in idea ; since it is maintained that we 
have no distinct conception of what these words denote. 

Now, it is only under these very forms and abstractions — if 
we may not call them " entities " — as invested with them and 
manifested through them, that both the Self and the Not-Self 
are presented to consciousness. And the Psychological The- 
ory has to explain the origin of these seemingly intuitive cog- 
nitions as thus presented, in all their characteristics ; not only 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 301 

in their most naked and abstract form, as merely contradistin- 
guished from each other ; but as conditioned and limited by- 
Time and Space, as acting and reacting upon each other by 
their Causal efficiency, and marked off, so to speak, into two 
distinct realms of consciousness by belonging, apparently, the 
one to an inner, and the other to an outer, world. Mr. Mill 
adopts as his criterion of truth, not the testimony of conscious- 
ness, however seemingly immediate and primitive, but the 
greater or less plausibility of any theory which may be framed 
respecting the manner in which consciousness was first induced 
to put on this illusive semblance of immediateness and origi- 
nality. He thus denies that we can know by intuition whether 
any cognition is or is not intuitive ; which is only a rounda- 
bout mode of denying that any truth or fact can be intuitively 
known. He makes reasoning the test of intuitions, instead of 
intuitions being the test of reasoning. We maintain that in- 
tuitions can be at once cognized as such — that is, can be im- 
mediately distinguished from empirical and derivative truths 
or facts — by these two marks or tests : — 1, by their character 
of necessity, their contradictory being inconceivable or unim- 
aginable ; or 2, by their being necessary elements of experience, 
so that without them experience itself would not be possible. 
Let us apply both these criteria. 

I. We maintain that Extension or Space is made known to 
us by direct intuition, in the manner just explained, by dis- 
tinguishing here from there on the surface of our own bodies. 
We say this cognition is intuitive, both because it presents it- 
self as such to our consciousness — that is, as immediate, since 
we certainty are not conscious of deriving it, either by infer- 
ence or by composition, from antecedent cognitions ; and be- 
cause it possesses the first of the two criteria just mentioned, 
viz., necessity ; for when we have once conceived and affirmed 
the existence of Space, we find ourselves utterly unable to con- 
ceive its destruction, or imagine its non-existence. We can 
with the utmost ease imagine not only the disappearance, but 
the annihilation, of all the material objects now occupying a 
given portion of space ; but this space once so occupied utterly 
refuses to be reduced to a nonentity, even in imagination. To 
take an instance more pertinent to our discussion with Mr. 



302 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

Mill ; — though a lifelong association, an experience repeated 
every instant of my whole life, connects me with my own body 
— that body a suggestion from which furnished the occasion 
on which the idea of space first rose into my mind — I can with 
ease imagine the dissolution, and even the annihilation, of 
every particle of my body. But even the smallest portion of 
the space now occupied by this body flatly refuses to be anni- 
hilated, even in idea. The parts of space, then, present them- 
selves to intuition as necessarily indestructible ; as external, 
not only to the perceiving mind, but to each other (partes ex- 
tra partes^ ; as immovable and so inseparable from each other ; 
and as a condition of the existence of matter. Am I asked, on 
what authority it is affirmed that space possesses all these prop- 
erties ? The answer is plain ; on the authority of Intuition. 
If he considers the subject for a moment, every person's con- 
sciousness will assure him that he conceives space as possess- 
ing every one of these attributes. 

Thus, then, the Intuitional or Introspective Theory accounts 
for the genesis of the idea of Space, with all the characteristics 
now enumerated. On occasion of a trival and oft-repeated ex- 
perience — the casual contact of some foreign substance with 
two distinct portions of my body, the idea spontaneously rises 
in my mind, and subsequent reflection assures me that it pos- 
sesses each of these attributes. How does Mr. Mill solve the 
same problem on the principles of his Psychological Theory ? 
It is difficult to consider the points of his answer with gravity, 
or believe that he is serious in propounding it. 

Remember that he has no material to work with but pres- 
ent and remembered Sensations, occurring either singly or in 
groups ; the action of Association in binding the members of 
these groups firmly together, even causing them at times to 
coalesce into one ; and Expectation, under given circumstances, 
of the recurrence of similar groups, thus forming what he calls 
" Permanent Possibilities of Sensation." Our whole knowl- 
edge of these Sensations and groups, whether in their simple 
state, or as modified by Association and Expectation, is lim- 
ited to their coexistences and sequences, and their similitudes. 
What chemistry will unable Mr. Mill to transmute any one, or 
any combination, of such materials into the idea of indestruc- 
tible, external, immovable, eternal, and infinite Space ? 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 303 

Recapitulating his theory, he says : " The sensation of mus- 
cular motion unimpeded constitutes our notion of empty space, 
and the sensation of muscular motion impeded constitutes that 
of filled space. Space is Room — room for movement." And, 
in further explanation of his theory, he affirms : " that the idea 
of Space is, at bottom, one of Time — and that the notion of 
extension or distance is that of a motion of the muscles contin- 
ued for a longer or shorter duration." 

The objections to this theory are numerous and patent. 

1. Before we have the ideas either of outness or of space, 
how do we know that motion takes place, or even what motion 
is ? The only possible conception of motion is that of trans- 
ferrence from one part of space to another ; and it is therefore 
inconceivable, unless we already know what space is. An idea 
cannot beget itself. 

2. As, on this theory, we only know the Sensations and the 
order of their occurrence, how can we know that certain Sen- 
sations are caused or produced by motion? Mr. Mill rejects 
the notion of efficient, or real, cause altogether, substituting 
that of invariable antecedent. Then we must first have an an- 
tecedent sensation of motion, and know it as such, before we 
can know the consequent sensation to be one of motion. Then 
again, the child is supposed to be its own parent. 

3. If, before having the idea of space, I can know that cer- 
tain sensations are caused by motion, then, since a knowledge 
of motion presupposes a knowledge of the locus a quo and the 
locus ad quern, I must certainly be able, antecedently to experi- 
ence, to localize sensations in my own body as here or there ; 
which Mr. Mill vehemently denies, since admitting such a 
power would be admitting the truth of the opposite theory. 

4. If " the idea of space is at bottom one of time," and if, 
" when we say that the space is greater or less, we mean that 
the series of sensations (amount of muscular effort being given) 
is longer or shorter," then the sensations produced by merely 
supporting continuously, for some time, with great muscular 
exertion, a considerable weight, though I stand stock still while 
so doing, ought to give the ideas both of motion and of space 
equal in extent to the duration of the effort. Here are all the 
elements necessary, according to Mill, for the genesis of the 
two ideas ; yet neither idea is generated. 



304 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

5. Consecutive points regarded as existing simultaneously — 
that is, before and after, as elements of extensive length — are 
rightly held to generate, or rather to constitute, the idea, not 
merely of succession, but of space. But a succession of events, 
one passing away when the next follows, — that is, before and 
after as elements of protensive length, — is regarded as giving 
us an idea only of succession, not of time. Mill seems to re- 
ject altogether the objective conception of "an entity called 
Time, and regarded as not a succession of successions, but as 
something in which the successions take place." Then, the 
one kind of succession (simultaneous) does give us the idea of 
Space, but the other kind (protensive) does not give us the 
idea of Time ; and yet " the idea of Space is at bottom one of 
Time," and, only by the duration of the effort, do we become 
conscious of the extent of Space. How, then, does he measure 
" duration," or what means " duration," except existence con- 
tinued in Time ? 

6. Why should the idea of Space, even if constructed as Mr. 
Mill would have it to be, be that of an external and indestruc- 
tible entity, existing independently of our conceptions, when 
all its elements are internal and contingent ? True, he does 
not believe in the externality ; or rather, he believes it is not 
" capable of proof." But he must admit that we have an idea 
of it ; and he is bound to show how this idea was generated. 

It does not appear, then, that " The Battle of the Two 
Philosophies," in regard to the idea of Space, has terminated 
in a victory for Mr. Mill. 

II. As an example for the application of the second crite- 
rion of an intutitive truth known as such, — that of being a 
necessary condition of experience, so that, without it, experi- 
ence would not be possible, — take the direct cognition by the 
thinking subject of himself as exerting force. Here we are 
sorry to part company with Hamilton, Reid, and Stewart, 
though Mr. Mansel is on our side. We maintain, with the 
last named, that in every act of consciousness, but especially 
in that of volition, we are directly conscious, not only of the 
action, but of the agent ; not only of the force exerted, but of 
Self as exerting force. The action could not be known at the 
moment to be mine, as it unquestionably is, if one and the 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 305 

same act of mine did not cognize both the Ego and the effort. 
I could not know hunger, if I did not, at the same moment, 
know Self as feeling the hunger ; for knowledge is a relation 
between the Subject, or the Self-knowing, and the object 
known ; and even Mr. Mill admits that assuredly a relation 
cannot " be thought without thinking the related objects be- 
tween which it exists." In the case of Matter, reasoning from 
the attributes to the substance is a proper inference, that being 
inferred which is not directly known or perceived. But in the 
case of Mind, we pass from actions to the agent, which is no 
inference at all, but a mere descent from an abstraction to a 
reality, — the object of immediate knowledge being, not the 
act, but the person acting. 

For these reasons, we affirm that Self is an immediate and 
original presentation of consciousness. Mr. Mill's doctrine is, 
that Self is only a factitious unit, made up by experience and 
association out of previous sensations. We apply to this doc- 
trine the second criterion, and maintain that a cognition of 
Self is a prerequisite or condition of experience, so that, with- 
out it, no experience whatever would be possible. Before Mr. 
Mill can make any use of his psychological chemistry, before 
he can even apply association to cement his materials together, 
he must know that these materials exist. His theory postu- 
lates Sensations ; but it needs to postulate known sensations — 
known either as now existing, or remembered as former ob- 
jects of knowledge. But any act of knowledge involves a 
cognition of the subject knowing, as well as of the object 
known. He admits this fact in another place, where he says, 
" The contrast necessary to all cognition is sufficiently provided 
for by the antithesis between the Ego and particular modi- 
fications of the Ego." But when arguing to prove that the 
Ego is not an original presentation of consciousness, he forgets 
this admission, and denies that a " mere impression on our 
senses involves, or carries with it, any consciousness of a 
Self;" and asserts that "our very notion of a Self takes its 
commencement, there is every reason to suppose, from the 
representation of a sensation in memory" Now, it is very 
easy to believe that we should remember less ; but how came 
we to remember more, than we originally knew ? If the orig- 

20 



306 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

inal presentation of the sensation did not contain the Ego, 
how can the re-presentation of the same fact contain it ? But 
still worse : the first " mere impression on our senses," since 
it does not involve " any consciousness of a Self," is no sen- 
sation — no cognition at all ; for " the contrast necessary to all 
cognition " is the antithesis between this very Ego and its 
particular modifications. Apparently, Mr. Mill thinks he had 
a sensation before he was born, or even conceived. We say 
again, then, that by denying the original presentation of the 
Ego in consciousness, he has made experience impossible, and 
thereby burned up all the materials he had to work with, his 
" Psychological Theory " of Matter and Mind perishing in the 
same conflagration. 

Mr. Mill also denies any " enorganic volition," considered as 
a conscious putting forth of energy by the thinking subject, 
either antecedent to, or wholly apart from, the sense of any 
muscular strain. As a necessary part of his doctrine of Ne- 
cessity, he does not admit a mental, but only "an animal 
nisus" as Hume calls it, which, Mr. Mill says, " would be 
more properly termed a conception of effort." He affirms, 
still more distinctly, that " the idea of Effort is essentially a 
notion derived from the action of our muscles, or from that 
combined with affections of our brain and nerves." This doc- 
trine will not appear very probable to any one who has " made 
an effort " to confine his attention to a dull book ; or to ban- 
ish gloomy thoughts ; or to keep down an expression of severe 
pain ; or to call up courage to face danger ; or to remember 
a half-forgotten message ; or to repress anger ; or to do half 
a hundred other things, in which mere muscular strain has as 
little part to play as in working out a formula by the binomial 
theorem. In fact, this doctrine is so extravagant, that Mr. 
Mill himself forgets that he has been pushed into affirming 
it, and informs us, in another place, that the formation of a 
concept " requires a mental effort, a concentration of conscious- 
ness upon certain definite objects, which concentration depends 
on the will, and is called Attention. And again he says, the 
consciousness of certain elements of the concrete idea " is 
faint, in proportion to the energy of the concentrative effort.'''' 
Naturam expellas furca. Mr. Mill's vigorous common sense 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 307 

will show itself in spite of his own theories, when the necessity 
of defending these theories is not immediately before him. 

In another passage, the difficulty of maintaining this very 
untenable doctrine seems to deprive him of his usual precision 
and caution in the use of language, and in statements of fact. 
He questions Hamilton's assertion, that we are conscious of a 
mental effort, or nisus, to move — distinct both from the orig- 
inal determination to move, and from the muscular sensation, 
— even though stupor of the sensitive nerves, and paralysis of 
the motor nerves, render both the feeling of the movement, 
and the movement itself, impossible ; and he adds, " If all 
this is true — though by what experiments it has been sub- 
stantiated we are not told — it does not by any means show 
that there is a mental nisus not physical, but merely re- 
moves the seat of the nisus from the nerves to the brain." 
"A mental nisus not physical!" Will Mr. Mill inform us, 
what is a mental nisus that is physical? The expression 
seems very like a contradiction in terms, unless he now in- 
tends to teach that all the so-called " mental " phenomena are 
really physical, thus adopting one of those " ruder forms of 
the materialist philosophy " against which he so vigorously 
protested in his " Logic," as pretending to resolve " states of 
consciousness into states of the nervous system." He surely 
does not mean to assert, that a purely mental act, which is an- 
tecedent to, and wholly distinct from, any muscular sensa- 
tion, is accompanied by immediate consciousness of action in 
the brain. And, if we are not conscious of brain-action in 
such a case, will he tell us what physiological experiments 
have proved that, in the case supposed, there is any such ac- 
tion? 

The so-called " Psychological Theory " resolves both Mat- 
ter and Mind into Permanent Possibilities of Sensations. As 
Mr. Mill says we cannot prove either of these possible groups 
to be really external, or to have any external cause or antece- 
dent, it is not easy to see why one of them should be called 
Matter, and the other be baptized Mind ; or why the two sup- 
posed entities, that are thus named, should be so broadly 
distinguished from each other, as they are in most people's ap- 
prehension of them, when, in fact, they are both made up of 



308 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

the same sort of elements, put together by the same process 
of mental chemistry. Why should it be eyen thought that 
the one is necessarily external, and the other internal ? More- 
over, we can find a reason why certain sensations should be 
put into the one group that is called a material object, for 
they are simultaneous ; at the same moment, I may see the 
color, smell the odor, taste the savor, and feel the shape and 
hardness, of the one object which I call an apple. But we 
find no reason why the other phenomena should be formed 
into a group at all, since they are not simultaneous, but 
successive, and often separated from each other by rather 
long intervals. Why should the phenomena of " knowing, 
feeling, desiring," etc., be selected from the countless other 
manifestations in consciousness, in order to make up the facti- 
tious unit called Mind or Self, when they appear in every pos- 
sible order, sometimes together, sometimes separate, and al- 
ways more or less jumbled up with external sensations ? Some 
of the modifications of one of them, such as joy, anger, pain, 
sorrow, love, and the like, may be even of very infrequent oc- 
currence. Why should they be selected as elements of the 
second group, or of any group, except from a previous or ac- 
companying Intuition, that these alone are States or Modifi- 
cations of a real unit or entity which I call Myself, and also 
from an Intuitive apprehension of that difference, which the 
" Psychological Theory " cannot make out or account for, — 
the difference between internal and external. 

" Die, sapiens Milli, et eris mini magnus Apollo." 

" Matter, then," says Mr. Mill, according to his " Psycho- 
logical Theory," " may be defined a Permanent Possibility 
of Sensation. If I am asked whether I believe in matter, I 
ask whether the questioner accepts this definition of it. If he 
does, I believe in matter ; and so do all Berkeleyans. In any 
other sense than this, I do not. But I affirm with confidence, 
that this conception of Matter includes the whole meaning at- 
tached to it by the common world, apart from philosophical, 
and sometimes from theological, theories." 

Here is an implied assertion, that his definition of Matter 
coincides with Berkeley's doctrine of Idealism; and a direct 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 309 

assertion, that it includes the whole meaning attached to the 
conception of Matter by ordinary people, who are neither 
philosophers nor theologians. We dispute both positions. 
Bishop Berkeley affirms the necessity of a Cause, an Efficient 
Cause, to account for the ideas or sensations in our minds; 
and as he says " there is nothing of power or agency " in the 
ideas themselves, as "it is impossible for an idea to do any- 
thing, or, strictly speaking, to be the cause of anything," he 
has a right to conclude, as he does, " there is therefore some 
cause of these ideas, whereon they depend, and which pro- 
duces and changes them." This cause he elsewhere affirms to 
be a mind or spirit, since he can have " no notion of any ac- 
tion distinct from volition, neither can I conceive of volition 
to be anywhere but in a spirit ; " therefore, " I assert as well 
as you, that since we are affected from without, we must allow 
powers to be without, in a being distinct from ourselves" The 
ideas imprinted on my senses, he argues further, " are not creat- 
ures of my will ; there is, therefore, some other will or spirit 
that produces them." Berkeley an Idealism, then, affirms the 
principle of causality, and thereby proves the existence of a 
Not-Self, — of a Divine mind, and other human minds besides 
my own ; it- denies material substance, but affirms spiritual 
causation and the efficiency of volition. Mr. Mill repudiates 
Efficient Causation altogether ; and by admitting the exist- 
ence only of Sensations and Possibilities of Sensations, he un- 
peoples the universe, and leaves his single " thread of con- 
sciousness " alone in creation. Berkeley spiritualizes Matter ; 
Mill annihilates it. 

The progenitor and sponsor of Mill's system is not Bishop 
Berkeley, but David Hume, who taught that " nothing is ever 
present to the mind but perceptions," and that " it is impos- 
sible for us to conceive or form an idea of anything specifi- 
cally different from ideas and impressions." Setting aside 
some metaphysicians, he thinks he " may venture to affirm of 
the rest of mankind, that they are nothing but a bundle or 
collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other 
with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux 
and movement." " The mind," he affirms, " is a kind of 
theatre, where several perceptions successively make their ap- 



310 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

pearance, pass, repass, glide away, and mingle in an infinite 
variety of postures and situations. There is properly no sim- 
plicity in it at one time, nor identity in different [times] ; 
whatever natural propension we may have to imagine that 
simplicity and identity. The comparison of the theatre must 
not mislead us. They are the successive perceptions only that 
constitute the mind ; nor have we the most distant notion of 
the place where these scenes are represented, or of the mate- 
rials of which it is composed." 

Just as little can the " Psychological Theory " be sheltered 
under the common opinion on this subject entertained by the 
vulgar. Ordinary people certainly attribute their sensations 
to some Cause operating upon their organs from without ; and 
this Cause they believe to be something, they know not what, 
the unknown seat or substratum of the qualities which affect 
their senses. The notions of Efficient Cause and Substance, 
far from being mere " metaphysical entities " excogitated by a 
few philosophers and theologians, must be classed among the 
most primitive and familiar impressions and beliefs of the 
great bulk of mankind. Mr. Mill's doctrine is the metaphys- 
ical refinement ; that which he impugns is the common be- 
lief of all men, except a few philosophers. 

Whatever evidence there may be, on the ordinary or Intu- 
itional theory, " that I have any fellow-creatures, or that there 
are any Selves except mine," says Mr. Mill, " exactly that 
same evidence is there " of the existence of these other Selves 
on the Psychological Theory. We deny that his doctrine af- 
fords him any such evidence, or even authorizes him to trust 
his memory, to admit his own personal identity, or to enter- 
tain any expectation whatever. If we know nothing but sen- 
sations or feelings, occurring singly or in groups, together 
with their sequences, coexistences, and similitudes, and are 
not at liberty to assume any cause for these phenomena, other 
than their invariable antecedents and concomitants, then we 
cannot know even the poor " thread of consciousness " to 
which Mr. Mill has reduced his own individual being. His 
own Mind may be a string of beads, but it is one which is 
constantly slipping through his fingers, since he grasps it only 
by one bead at a time, neither the past nor the future being 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 311 

in any manner present to consciousness. We have no better 
right to infer the actual existence of the Past from a present 
consciousness which merely represents that Past, than we have 
to infer the existence of the table, as an external reality, from 
the consciousness of the sensations which we believe the table 
excites. On this point, Hume is consistent and logical, while 
Mill is the reverse. If Perception, which is a continuous 
phenomenon, the sensations abiding till we voluntarily turn 
away from the object that produces them, — if Perception, we 
say, plays us false, what better guaranty have we of the faith- 
fulness of Memory, which is avowedly nothing but a mental 
picture, a mere representative image, and comparatively a 
faint one, of what is past and gone? The cardinal feature of 
Mr. Mill's theory is, that a phenomenon avouches incontest- 
ably nothing but its own phenomenal existence and character- 
istics. We might as well admit our own causative energy, 
though, according to Mr. Mill, we have direct evidence only 
of the effects produced by it, as admit the reality of a Past, of 
which only an adumbration now floats before consciousness. 
The irresistible character of the belief which accompanies it is 
no valid evidence before the court where Mr. Mill presides ; 
such testimony, in the case of Perception, he rules out without 
ceremony. 

Besides the permanent group of Possibilities of Sensation, 
which he calls his own body, Mr. Mill argues that there are 
other similar groups, representing other human bodies, each 
exhibiting a set of phenomena such as he knows, in his own 
case, to be effects of consciousness, " and such as might be 
looked for, if each of the bodies has really in connection with it 
a world of consciousness." But, to him, these groups are only 
forms of the Ego, and cannot be resolved into a Non-Ego, 
except by admitting the doctrine of Efficient Causation, or of 
immediate perception, or of that irresistible but inexplicable 
belief which is only another name for knowledge, or of an a 
priori law of thought. Through dwelling upon the doctrine 
that Matter is only a name for an aggregate of possible sen- 
sations, he has so far objectified the group in his own concep- 
tion of it, as to forget the subjective character of all the ele- 
ments of which it is composed. But it is objectified only in 



312 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

thought ; it is a mere subject-object. A Possibility of Sen- 
sation is only his expectation (a pure state of his own mind), 
that the given Sensation (another mental state) will revive 
under certain circumstances. 

Mr. Mill was betrayed into the inconsistency of admitting 
" memories and expectations " into that thread of conscious- 
ness which composes the mind's phenomenal life, through the 
exigencies of the case ; for, of course, without remembrance 
and anticipation, no inductive reasoning would be possible, 
and there would be no experience beyond that of the present 
moment. This is the gulf of utter scepticism into which 
Hume willingly plunged. Mr. Mill struggles bravely to get 
out of it, but his own consistency must be sacrificed before he 
can gain foothold on the solid ground above. For what are 
these "memories and expectations?" "In themselves," he 
rightly says, " they are present feelings, states of present con- 
sciousness, and in that respect not distinguished from sensa- 
tions." But he adds, " They all, moreover, resemble some 
given sensations or feelings, of which we have previously had 
experience ; " and each of them, also, " involves a belief in more 
than its own present existence." 

How does Mr. Mill know that they " resemble " some of our 
former sensations, since these previous phenomena are not 
now before us ? And what guaranty has he of the validity of 
that " belief," by which they are accompanied ? True, they 
affirm such resemblance, and assert this belief. But Mr. Mill, 
in other cases, has refused even to listen to such allegations. 
The presence of the sensation is an immediate datum of con- 
sciousness ; but the validity of any knowledge, assertion, or be- 
lief implied in that sensation, or inseparately associated with 
it, is not an immediate datum of consciousness, and cannot be 
admitted without building up again that real objective world, 
both of Matter and Mind, which the " Psychological Theory " 
has resolved into a mere dream. There is no reason, then, 
why Mr. Mill should hesitate, at the last moment, to carry 
out his theory of the Mind or Ego to its farthest consequences. 
There is no " inexplicable fact" in the case. The presence of 
alleged " memories and expectations " in the series ought not 
to have perplexed him, any more than the presence of alleged 
" perceptions." 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 313 

We can learn that another mind is acting near us only from 
sensible evidence of the presence and actions of another body 

— a tall, featherless biped — now affecting our faculties of sight 
and touch. Taking for granted the actual existence of this 
biped, Mr. Mill argues that the similarity of its outward form 
and actions to those of my own body, and my consciousness 
that my actions are connected with my thoughts and volitions, 
authorize me to conclude, by legitimate inductive evidence, 
that the biped's actions are connected with his thoughts ; that 
he, also, has a Mind. Furthermore, he affirms, that having 
supposed the biped possesses thoughts and feelings similar to 
my own, " I find that my subsequent consciousness presents 
those very sensations, of speech heard, of movements and other 
outward demeanor seen, and so forth, which, being the effects 
or consequents of actual feelings in my own case, I should ex- 
pect to follow upon those other hypothetical feelings [of the 
biped], if they really exist; and thus the hypothesis is ver- 
ified." 

But this argument is open to two fatal objections. 

1. What right have I to take for granted the real presence 
before me of one mass of matter — the biped, — when I deny 
the real presence of another aggregation of matter — the desk, 

— the evidence for the existence of the two being avowedly the 
same, — namely, the existence of a group of sensations, and be- 
lieved possibilities of sensations, in my own mind; or, rather, 
the existence of them somewhere, though in no definite local- 
ity ; since Mr. Mill is by no means sure of the reality of his 
own Mind or Self, and does not believe the real externality to 
us of anything, " except other minds ? " It seems a paradoxical 
distinction, by the by, to assert the externality — that is, the 
existence in space — of other minds, and to deny the exter- 
nality of all bodies, his own included. 

2. The correspondence of the relation between the observed 
actions and supposed feelings of the biped with the relation 
between my own actions and feelings, can be affirmed only on 
the ground of my remembrance of the manner in which I acted 
and was affected on a previous occasion, when the circum- 
stances were similar. To borrow an illustration adopted by 
Mr. Mill from one of his critics, if the biped screams when he 



314 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

cuts his finger, I can infer that he feels pain, only because I 
remember what my own feelings were, some time ago, when I 
experienced a similar accident. But Memory, we repeat, is a 
witness that has been turned out of court, and cannot bear 
witness to the similarity either of the feelings, or of the cir- 
cumstances that generated the feelings. 

Mr. Mill repeatedly charges his critics with inability to 
think themselves fully into the theory which they deny, or to 
form that accurate and entire conception of it which is neces- 
sary before it can be fairly judged. We fear the accusation 
may be retorted ; for it does not seem that he himself is always 
fully aware of the narrowness of the basis on which his theory 
rests, and of the consequent difficulty of enlarging it enough 
to meet all the exigencies of the case. He does not always re- 
member that, to him, the universe must be contained within 
the limits of his own consciousness at any one moment. He 
has before him, not a record of the whole, or any considerable 
portion, of the history of his consciousness, but only an almost 
momentary glimpse of its condition and contents at the in- 
stant of observation, this picture fading out entirely when 
succeeded by another of the series. That some of these states 
of his own mind report themselves, when thus observed, as 
" memories " and " expectations," is a fact of no more impor- 
tance than the corresponding one, that others give themselves 
out, with equal strength of assertion, as " internal" and "ex- 
ternal " states of consciousness, or as forms of the Ego or the 
Non-Ego. He must admit that imagination can simulate the 
Past at least as perfectly as the Present. The " expectation " 
cannot even be justified by the subsequent event; for when 
that event comes round, the expectation of it already exists 
only in memory. 

Let us now go back for a moment to Mr. Mill's doctrine of 
empiricism, — to his attempt to account for the presence of 
necessary and universal truths in the human mind, not by trac- 
ing them, after the manner of Leibnitz and Kant, to a priori 
laws of human thought, but by trying to generate them from 
experience through the law of Inseparable Association. It is 
unlucky that he allows himself to be so far heated by oppo- 
sition as to lose caution in the statement of his extreme opin- 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 315 

ions, and to express himself in a tone of far more confident 
dogmatism about those doctrines which he espouses against 
the authority of nearly all the great metaphysicians of an ear- 
lier day, than on those points where the authority both of 
philosophers and of the world at large is certainly in his favor. 
In this respect, he often reminds us of Hobbes, who was never 
more vehement and dogmatic than in defending his solution 
of the difficulty of squaring the circle. We have had one 
amusing instance of this peculiarity on the part of Mr. Mill, 
in his sweeping and almost fierce statement of the conceiva- 
bility of Infinite Space. The following is intended to be an 
equally resolute and thorough-going expression of the doc- 
trine of empiricism : " As for the feeling of necessity, or what 
is termed a necessity of thought, it is (as I have already ob- 
served), of all mental phenomena positively the one which an 
inseparable association is the most evidently competent to 
generate." When a disputant has thus gallantly thrown 
away the scabbard, it seems almost a pity to remind him, 
that his very statement of the question precludes the possibil- 
ity of his finding an opponent. Of course, if two ideas are 
inseparably associated, it is a " necessity of thought " to think 
them together ; one might as well declare, with great empha- 
sis, that two and two do make four. The real question is, 
whether mere experience of the simultaneity, or immediate 
consecutiveness, of two thoughts can be so uniform, and so 
many times repeated, as to make it impossible to think one 
without the other ; or, in other words, to generate an insepa- 
rable association between them. Mr. Mill affirms that it can ; 
Leibnitz, Kant, Hamilton, and many others, say that it can- 
not. 

The Leibnitzian doctrine is well expressed by Mr. Mansel, 
" that whatever truths we are compelled to admit as every- 
where and at all times necessary, must have their origin, not 
without, in the laws of the sensible world, but within, in the 
constitution of the mind itself." All attempts, he adds, to 
trace such cognitions to experience and the association of ideas 
are vain, " because other associations, as frequent and as uni- 
form, are incapable of producing a higher conviction than that 
of a relative and physical necessity only" As Mr. Mill admits 



316 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

the fairness and sufficiency of this test, the question is one 
which can be, at least in part, decided by an appeal to facts. 

A necessary conjunction of two phenomena or ideas is one 
the separation of which is impossible even in thought. A ne- 
cessity of thinking, and not of merely acting or feeling, in a 
certain manner, is what we are now concerned with. Hamil- 
ton asserts that " the necessity of so thinking cannot be de- 
rived from a custom of so thinking," and that " the customary 
never reaches, never even approaches, to the necessary." Mill 
cites in reply the instance of the paviour, who " cannot " use 
his rammer without crying " ha ! " and of the orator, who was 
unable to speak without twirling a string round his finger, as 
" examples of a customary which did approach to, and even 
reach, the necessary." We submit that both cases are irrele- 
vant, since the alleged inability was only one of acting with- 
out the usual trick, while both parties were perfectly able to 
imagine themselves acting either with or without the ordinary 
accompaniment. Equally irrelevant are the instances cited of 
irrepressible emotion produced by revisiting the scenes where 
great fright or great sorrow had been experienced ; the very 
effort the sufferers made to control their feelings proves that 
they could and did imagine this effort to be successful. 

1. Two straight lines, which are parallel in any portion of 
their length, cannot meet, however far extended in either di- 
rection ; that is, cannot inclose a space. This is an absolute 
necessity of thought, since its contradictory cannot even be 
imagined. Moreover, it is easily cognized as necessary, even 
by a youth who has just been so far introduced to the mere 
elements of geometry as to fully know what parallelism means; 
who has consequently had comparatively little experience, 
either through his senses or his imagination, of parallel lines ; 
who has never seen or imagined such lines extended, except to 
a very short distance ; and who, indeed, has been most con- 
versant with apparent exceptions to the truth, as in looking 
up a long street, bridge, or railroad, where perspective seems 
to bring the two lines together. Here, then, is a necessary 
truth preceded by so little experience that it cannot have been 
generated by association. 

2. On the other hand, uniform experience, repeated almost 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 317 

every moment of our lives, assures us that all bodies gravitate, 
so that, (in the case of terrestrial bodies,) if left unsupported, 
they fall or sink to the ground or bottom ; and the apparent 
exceptions to this law, as in the case of a balloon rising in the 
air, and of corks or other light substances, perhaps simulating 
stones in appearance, continuing to float in water, are few and 
infrequent, and are so easily and fully explained away, that 
they are properly classed with those exceptions which confirm 
the rule. Yet it is perfectly easy to imagine the contradic- 
tory of this law, — that material substances should not fall, 
but remain suspended in space ; or, if they did move, that they 
should not fall downwards, but sidewise, in any horizontal di- 
rection, or upwards. Even Mr. Mill admits that he can with- 
out difficulty " form the imagination of a stone suspended in 
the air." In this case, therefore, unbroken and multiplied ex- 
perience does not create any necessity of thought. 

Now observe the inconsistency of Mr. Mill's reasoning upon 
these two cases, so obviously incompatible with his theory. 
He says, that my inability to conceive of two parallels meeting 
is not removed by witnessing numerous cases of the seeming 
convergence of two such lines ; because further experience, or 
a moment's consideration, explains the illusion of the appar- 
ent, but unreal, coming together of the lines. Very well ; then 
illusory appearances to the contrary, if easily explained away, 
do not so break the uniformity of the association as to prevent 
it from becoming indissoluble. And yet, in the case of the 
stone falling to the bottom of the water, he affirms that our 
seeing light substances simulating stones continue to float, 
though readily accounted for, is enough to vitiate the other- 
wise uniform testimony of experience, and therefore to prevent 
the inseparable association from being formed. It is a poor 
rule that will not work both ways. Why does not the correc- 
tion of the mistake, and the consequently proved fact that the 
testimony of well-understood experience is really all on one 
side, create an impossibility of conceiving the other side in the 
case of the stone, as well as in that of the parallel lines ? 

We are now prepared to examine Mr. Mill's mode of ex- 
plaining the genesis of that necessity of thought which we 
call the universal Law of Causation. It is an irresistible and 



318 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

universal belief, that every event, every change, which takes 
place in the outer world, must have a Cause. " In the outer 
world,'' we say, wishing to avoid, for the present, the dispute 
as to the universal applicability of this law to the phenomena 
of Mind. But no one disputes, no one can dispute, the neces- 
sity of believing that, in the case of Matter, no change can 
take place without a Cause. Mr. Mill attempts to resolve this 
law into mere Invariability of Sequence. Uniform and oft- 
repeated experience, he says, has assured us that, " for every 
event, there exists some combination of objects or events, some 
given concurrence of circumstances, positive and negative, the 
occurrence of which will always be followed by that phenom- 
enon." Such experience, according to his theory, creates an 
Inseparable Association in the mind between any event what- 
ever, and some Invariable Antecedent of that event. No mat- 
ter whether we have yet discovered the proper Antecedent of 
this particular phenomenon, or not. The mere association of 
ideas, created by the frequency and uniformity of experience 
in similar cases, makes it impossible for us not to believe that 
there is such an Antecedent, such a conjuncture of circum- 
stances, special to this phenomenon, to be found somewhere. 

We are not now considering the objective validity of this 
Law of Causation. We are now inquiring only about the 
origin of that necessity of Thought which compels us to be- 
lieve that there must be such a Cause, or such an Invariable 
Antecedent, for every phenomenon, whether it has yet been 
discovered or not; a necessity of Thought which is just as 
incumbent upon the thickest skulled rustic as upon the man 
of science, upon the boy as the man, upon the religious mys- 
tic as the hard-headed infidel ; which governed the thoughts, 
and thereby the actions, of men, just as absolutely and uni- 
versally before the time of Galileo and Bacon, of Archimedes 
and Aristotle, as it does at the present day. Tell the dullest 
clodhopper, or the clodhopper's youngest child, that the chair 
has fallen down, or the light has been extinguished, or the 
pitcher has been broken, or the paper has taken fire, " with- 
out a Cause," and, if he understands the meaning of your words, 
he will believe that you are making game of him. Show him 
any strange phenomenon on the earth, or in the skies, and 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 319 

his first inquiry will be, — " What makes it so ? What causes 
it?" 

We maintain that this class of persons, the ignorant and 
unthinking, cannot have had the uniform and frequently -re- 
peated experience, which alone could create in their minds an 
indissoluble association between any new phenomenon and 
some one antecedent, or 'group of antecedents, of which it is 
the special and invariable consequent. Nature does not re- 
veal the constancy of her operations to unpractised eyes at 
the first glance. She rather oppresses the untaught mind 
with a sense of her infinite variety, her ceaseless vicissitudes, 
her inexhaustible fertility of forms and diversity of motion 
and operation. Take the phenomena which lie the nearest, so 
to speak, to human life and conduct : the phenomena of the 
weather ; of health and disease ; of good and bad fortune ; of 
the character and conduct of individual men ; of the infinitely 
varied forms and aspects of the vegetable and animal creation, 
and the contingencies to which they are subject. Not without 
reason were the earliest systems of religion, devised by unin- 
structed intellects, always polytheistic, such minds naturally 
seeking causes as numerous and diversified as the effects at- 
tributed to them, finding a prototype of nature's action only 
in the endless inconstancy and caprice of a semi-human will, 
and therefore peopling the mountains, forests, rivers, seas, and 
skies with an innumerable crowd of arbitrary deities. Surely 
the most extravagant and unreasonable of all systems of phi- 
losophy is that which would attribute the universal and irre- 
sistible belief in the necessity and uniformity of Causation, to 
men's unenlightened experience and casual observation of the 
workings of nature. Such a belief, could it be formed at all 
in the mode here indicated, would be the latest product of a 
mind deeply imbued with the principles and results of mod- 
ern physical science. It would be natural to man only in the 
same sense in which every man is naturally an expert in the 
differential and integral calculus. 

The empirical theory of Causation is a necessary part of 
that doctrine of universal scepticism, according to which there 
is no real being, no universe of actual existence, outside of the 
individual thinker's own consciousness for the present mo- 



320 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

ment. Efficient or real Causation can take place only in a 
real universe, where there is something to act, and something 
to be acted upon or produced ; in an imaginary universe, a 
sphere of mere thought, such Causation is a mere dream. If 
that which is called a real " object " is only a group of actual 
and possible sensations, the object supposed to be a " cause " 
being one of these groups, and that called an " effect " another, 
then the relation between cause and effect is only the usual 
relation between two immediately consecutive thoughts, — a 
relation of mere customary sequence, by virtue of which one 
suggests the other, without having the slightest real power or 
causal efficiency over that other. 

But it was long ago remarked, that any scheme of univer- 
sal scepticism is incoherent, self-contradictor}^ and suicidal. 
It is either a baseless assumption, or it is grounded upon rea- 
soning which cannot proceed a step without taking for granted 
the very intuitions, or fundamental truths, which the sceptic 
affects to deny and disprove. That in reasoning which con- 
nects the premises with the conclusion, or, in other words, 
that alone which makes us believe the conclusion, is a Law of 
Thought, or an absolute truth intuitively discerned, which, 
as a ground of belief, is not one whit stronger — nay, is not 
so strong — as that other necessity of Thought, or immediate 
intuition, — call it what you please, — which compels us to 
believe the reality of the Ego, of an Efficient Cause as a Non- 
Ego operating upon me from without, and the externality, in- 
destructibility, and infinity of the Space in which the Non-Ego 
exists. As all reasoning is based upon necessities of Thought, 
it cannot be used to disprove them ; since the conclusion thus 
obtained affirms the falsity of the premise whence it was 
drawn, and we should thus be involved in a perpetual see-saw, 
as in the famous sophism of Epimenides. 

We now pass to that portion of Mr. Mill's work which is 
the principal arena for " the Battle of the two Philosophies ; " 
— to his chapter upon the Freedom of the Will. The remark 
made by him at the outset, respecting Hamilton's doctrine 
upon this subject, may be applied with far more justice to his 
own system of Necessity, (or of Moral Causation, if he chooses 
to call it so,) " that it may be regarded as the central idea of 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 321 

his system — the determining cause of most of his philosophical 
opinions." He first finds fault with Hamilton for putting in 
" a claim for metaphysics, grounded on the Free- Will doc- 
trine, of being the only medium through which our unassisted 
reason can ascend to the knowledge of a God." A remark of 
this sort always bring out all the irritability of Mr. Mill, as 
he thinks it is an attempt to create a religious prejudice in 
favor of a metaphysical theory ; and he therefore denounces it, 
as " not only repugnant to all the rules of philosophizing, but 
a grave offence against the morality of philosophic inquiry." 

We deny the justice of the imputation, and question the 
validity of the canon here laid down to restrict the range of 
argumentation in philosophy. In the passage referred to, far 
from attempting to excite religious prejudice, Hamilton's 
main purpose is to vindicate the importance and dignity of 
metaphysical science, not only in itself considered, but in the 
logical connection of its doctrines with the fundamental no- 
tions in other sciences, such as morality and religion, of the 
gravest value and interest to man. Who ever heard that it 
was blameworthy to commend any science, because the con- 
clusions to which it led the inquirer were favorable to sound 
morals, and created an additional safeguard for the restraints 
of conscience? Why, Mr. Mill himself occupies nearly the 
whole of this long chapter in attempting to prove that his own 
doctrine of Causation, which denies the Freedom of the Will, 
is perfectly consistent with " the reality, and the knowledge 
and feeling, of moral distinctions;" since these, he affirms, 
•' are independent of any theory respecting the will." And he 
afterwards remarks, that " not only the doctrine of Necessity, 
but Predestination in its coarsest form," is, in his view, " in- 
consistent with ascribing any moral attributes whatever to the 
Deity." Now, we cannot see that the doctrine thus avowed 
by himself differs one iota from that which he so severely 
blames Hamilton for teaching ; except that the latter takes 
for granted, what indeed is obvious to common-sense, that a 
Deity without " any moral attributes whatever "is no Deity 
at all. It would be harsh to say, that Mr. Mill here either 
denies this common-sense view of the Divine nature, or that 
he believes all those who hold the doctrine of " Predestination 
21 



322 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

in its coarsest form " are Atheists. Yet such a construction 
of his language would be far more natural and justifiable than 
the imputation which he throws upon Hamilton, of attempt- 
ing to defend a foregone conclusion by exciting a religious 
prejudice. In the passage which he misrepresents, though of 
course unintentionally, Hamilton does not say that metaphys- 
ics, or the free-will doctrine, is " the only medium," etc. ; 
but having previously remarked that mind itself is " the 
noblest object of speculation which the created universe pre- 
sents to the curiosity of man," he continues the argument by 
asserting, that " mind rises to its highest dignity when viewed 
as the object through which, and through which alone, our 
unassisted reason can ascend to the knowledge of a God." We 
may seem to have spent too many words upon this side issue ; 
but in assailing the opinions, and the fairness in argument, of 
a philosopher who is no longer here to defend himself, Mr. 
Mill should at least be cautious in making his citations. 

We admit that Mr. Mill is justifiable in stating his convic- 
tion, that the doctrine of Necessity is inconsistent with the 
belief that the Deity has any moral attributes whatever, 
though he thereby violates his own assertion respecting the 
morality of philosophic inquiry. It is a perfectly legitimate 
argument against any opinion, to urge that it is at variance 
with previously established truths in the same, or another, 
science. Thus, a psychological theory respecting perception 
may be confuted by what is believed to be & physiological fact. 
In like manner, a metaphysical dogma may be shaken by 
proving that it contradicts what are held to be well established 
conclusions in theology. This point is so evident that it is 
fair to say that it never would have been questioned by Mr. 
Mill, had he not been so sensitive respecting any allusion to 
religious belief. It is only another application of the same 
kind of reasoning to declare, what an invincible law of our 
nature compels us to believe, that a doctrine which leads to 
pernicious consequences cannot be sound doctrine. A theory 
in political science, which, like that of Mandeville, tends to 
the depravation of society, must be a false theory. So an 
ethical system, which would make men worse instead of bet- 
ter, must be based on wrong principles, or made out by un- 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 323 

sound deduction. There is a reductio ad abmrdum in mor- 
als, as well as in mathematics. 

Hamilton's theory of the conflicting doctrines of Necessity 
and Free Will is one application of his Philosophy of the 
Conditioned, — that both doctrines are inconceivable, but as 
they are contradictories, one of them must be true ; and there- 
fore, as the inconceivability, which is common to both, does 
not disprove either, we must believe in Free Will, which has, 
what the other has not, the distinct testimony of conscious- 
ness in its favor. Mr. Mill opens his own discussion of the 
question with his usual astuteness, by quoting with strong 
approbation his opponent's argument to prove the inconceiv- 
ability of Free Will, and contemptuously denying or disput- 
ing what is urged to establish the other horn of the dilemma, 
the equal inconceivability of the doctrine of Necessity. This 
is a fine illustration of the use which a dextrous disputant 
may make of an adversary's labors ; as he thereby gets the ad- 
vantage of many strong arguments from the Hamiltonian point 
of view, which a regard for consistency with other portions of 
his own opinions would not allow him to urge in his own per- 
son; and he also has, all along, the air of proving his point 
out of his antagonist's own mouth. 

When it is urged that the Fatalist " overlooks the equal, but 
less obtrusive, inconceivability of an infinite non-commence- 
ment, on the assertion of which non-commencement his own 
doctrine of Necessity must ultimately rest," Mr. Mill tartly re- 
plies, " It rests on no such thing, if he believes in a First Cause, 
which a Necessitarian may." Is he serious in making this ex- 
traordinary admission, whereby he abandons the whole pre- 
ceding argument ? A First Cause is an uncaused volition ; 
and if the possibility of this is admitted, there is no longer 
any ground for controversy, and the Free Will doctrine is es- 
tablished. 

" What is more," continues Mr. Mill, " even if he does not 
believe in a First Cause, he makes no assertion of non-com- 
mencement ; he only declines to make an assertion of com- 
mencement" What a hard-pushed disputant, who is willing 
to shut his eyes to the logical consequences of his own asser- 
tions, may do or " decline " to do, is a point not worth con 



324 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

sidering. But nothing can be more certain, than that the 
doctrine of an " absolute commencement," and that of an "in- 
finite non-commencement," can be shown, on the Necessita- 
rian's own hypothesis, to be two contradictories ; so that, if 
there is any truth in logic, the disputant is not at liberty to 
deny one, and " decline to make an assertion" of the other; 
for one of them MUST be true. According to Mr. Mill's own 
doctrine of " Moral Causation," every phenomenon is both a 
Cause of its Invariable Consequent, and an Effect of its Invari- 
able Antecedent ; and this Antecedent, again, is an Effect of its 
Antecedent, and so on forever. This series of Antecedents 
must be infinite ; for if we stop at any one Antecedent, whether 
near or remote, that one is an absolute commencement, or 
First Cause, and we are impaled on the other horn of the 
dilemma. Mr. Mill may take his stand with Hegel, and dis- 
pute the validity of the law of Excluded Middle ; but other- 
wise, he is not logically entitled to deny the one contradictory, 
and yet " decline to make an assertion " of the other. 

We affirm, with Hamilton, that we are held to this alter- 
native, an uncaused commencement or an infinite regress, in 
all cases of Causation whatsoever. But Mr. Mill alleges that, 
in the case of all other facts except volitions, we accept the 
supposition of " a regress, not indeed to infinity, but either 
generally into the region of the Unknowable, or back to a 
Universal Cause ; " and as we are concerned with such a Cause 
only in relation to its Consequents, and not in relation to 
its Antecedents, " we can afford to consider this reference as 
ultimate." 

A Kentuckian would certainly call this doctrine a " coming 
out through a very small hole." The question is not what 
"we can afford" to do, but what, as philosophers, we are 
logically bound to do, in order to satisfy all the requisites of 
the theory which we adopt, according to the most comprehen- 
sive view that can be taken of those requisites. It is true 
that the student of mere physical science, who is concerned 
only with proximate causes, is entitled to stop when he has 
reached this nearest goal, not because it is impossible, or even 
undesirable, to go farther, but because it is not the function 
of this particular physical science, of which he is an adept, to 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 325 

trace the links of connection with what lies beyond. Thus, 
having succeeded in tracing a given phenomenon to the law of 
gravitation, or to that of chemical affinity, he stops there, be- 
cause these laws, to the special sciences of mechanics and 
chemistry, are ultimate. Not so with the metaphysician or 
philosopher, who, under penalty of being pronounced incom- 
petent and degraded from office, is bound to follow his theory, 
up or down, to " first principles," or the remotest conceivable 
antecedents \nd consequents ; for his is emphatically the sci- 
ence of " first principles." Having begun with the assertion 
that this round world needs support of one sort or another, 
and then having shown that it rests on an elephant, and that 
the elephant stands on a tortoise, he is not entitled, when 
asked, " But what does the tortoise stand on ? " to answer, 
" We can afford to consider this basis of support as ultimate." 
In tracing the chain of Causation, he who stops at any point 
short of infinity necessarily admits a First Cause at this point, 
and therefore might just as well have admitted such a Cause 
at the outset. 

Bringing down the discussion to the range of facts, Mr. 
Mill denies that I am directly conscious of the freedom of my 
will, on the ground that " what I am able to do, is not a sub- 
ject of consciousness," but only what I actually do or feel ; 
"consciousness," he insists, " is not prophetic; we are con- 
scious of what is, not of what will or can be." 

But in this argument he assumes the whole ground at is- 
sue ; blinded by his own theory, that Causes can be known 
only through or from their Effects, he assumes that Ability 
or Power can only be inferred from the results of its com- 
ing into action, and therefore cannot become known in it- 
self, previous to the occurrence of these results, and indepen- 
dently of them. We deny his whole theory ; we deny that 
consciousness needs to be " prophetic," in order to assure us 
of what we can do. Power, as well as its opposite, inability 
or a want of power, is a present phenomenon, and thus is 
within the purview of consciousness. Mr. Mill, as we have 
seen, twice appeals to the consciousness of voluntary "mental 
effort;" and what possible definition can be given of effort, 
except as power in exercise f Still further ; consciousness 



326 MILL ON HAMILTON. 

would not need to be prophetic, even if it were only from its 
Effects that we could know the causative power of the Will ; 
for the necessary simultaneity, on which we have just com- 
mented, of an Effect with its Cause, enables us to be con- 
scious, at one and the same moment, both of the Effort and 
of its success or failure. " Ability and force are not real en- 
tities," argues Mr. Mill. Certainly not ; they are faculties of 
the mind, and we are directly conscious of them when in ex- 
ercise, just as we are conscious of fixing the attention, or con- 
trolling emotion, by a strenuous effort. Even in the case of 
the muscular strain, the failure of the endeavor is far from 
negativing the consciousness of that endeavor. On the con- 
trary, a strong man is perhaps never so fully aware of the 
extent of his powers, as when he has attempted to accomplish 
some remarkable feat, and failed ; success comes before, but 
failure only after, he has put forth his whole strength. To 
maintain that we are not conscious of any exertion, and do 
not even know what exertion is, until the results inform us of 
its success or failure, is to contradict the plainest testimony 
of ordinary consciousness, and to utter what must appear a 
startling paradox even to the vulgar. 

Observe, however, that what we thus strongly assert is the 
ability to will, not the ability to do, or accomplish the medi- 
tated feat ; the latter, we admit, so far as it is an external phe- 
nomenon, an actual contraction of the muscles, can be known 
only through its results. But in one sense, and that a very 
important one, the volition is the action or the doing, in its 
subjective and moral aspect, since it is for this alone that con- 
science holds us responsible. A mere volition to commit mur- 
der is murder, before God, though not at man's tribunal ; since 
we can know the volitions of our fellow-man only by their re- 
sults, his outward acts. 

Mr. Mill denies " that we are conscious of being able to act 
in opposition to the strongest present desire or aversion." But 
in proof that we are so conscious, one of his critics cites the 
fact, that we are as sensibly exhausted by a long continued 
effort to resist temptation, as after any physical exertion ; 
whereas, if the will passively followed the strongest desire, 
there would be no occasion for any effort, but the volition would 
be determined readily, and at once, just as the balance turns 



MILL ON HAMILTON. 827 

under a preponderant weight in either scale. Mr. Mill replies, 
" The fact is not quite thus, even in inanimate nature ; the hur- 
ricane does not level the house, or blow down the tree, without 
resistance ; even the balance trembles and the scales oscillate 
for a short time, when the difference of the weights is not con- 
siderable." We accept the parallel. The house or tree does 
not yield to the wind " without resistance," because it has in- 
nate strength in itself to withstand such force operating upon 
it from without. Grant as much of the Will, and the case is 
decided in favor of its freedom. An innate power to " resist" 
the strongest present desire must be, by the nature of the case, 
a power self-determined to activity, since all other desires then 
present to the mind are, by hypothesis, weaker than the one 
resisted. Such self-determination is further indicated by the 
fact, that resistance to the strongest desire is offered at one time, 
even to exhaustion, but entirely withheld at another. Not so 
with the tree or house, the impediment here being mere stiff- 
ness or passive resistance, and therefore always manifested to 
the same extent. 

We have no space left for following Mr. Mill through the 
weakest, though the most elaborately argued, portion of his 
book, in which he seeks to reconcile a denial of the Freedom 
of the Will with the consciousness of moral responsibility, and 
with the acknowledgment of the justice of punishment for 
wrong-doing. Here we must leave him to his other critics and 
to the common sense of mankind, to which we may boldly ap- 
peal, for the instantaneous rejection of a doctrine so repugnant 
to our most deeply rooted feelings and convictions, that sophis- 
try is only wasted in its defence. Such sophistry is abundantly 
confuted by the two brief and simple questions put by Mr. 
Alexander, in his late work : " If Physical Causation incapaci- 
tates the Will (and therefore makes the man unpunishable)," 
and Mr. Mill acknowledges that it does, " must not moral Cau- 
sation incapacitate it ? And if not, what is the rational ground 
of the distinction ? " Being under physical constraint, the man 
could not have acted otherwise ; following his moral antece- 
dents, he could not even have willed to act otherwise. Will 
you dismiss him as innocent in the former case, and punish him 
as guilty in the latter? He who can answer this question in the 
affirmative, is prepared to adopt Mr. Mill's theory of Ethics. 



THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 

FROM THE PRINCETON REYIEW FOR MAT, 1880. 

The question whether the human intellect differs from the 
brute mind in degree only, or also in essence and kind, is not 
new in the history of philosophy. It has been debated with 
earnestness in every age, at least since the revival of letters. 
In the sixteenth century, Montaigne, who is followed by 
Charron and Gassendi, undertakes to prove that there is a 
wider interval of mental power between one man and another 
than between man and the most sagacious brute. In his usual 
fleering and sceptical manner, he says, we must push man 
back into the crowd of animals from which, in the arrogance 
of his heart, he aspires to separate himself. In fact, so far as 
the animal acts from instinct, Montaigne declares, it is the 
superior ; since it then accomplishes at once, and without reflec- 
tion or effort, tasks which man can perform only imperfectly 
and after repeated failures. 

In the next century, Descartes went just as far into the 
opposite extreme, when he maintained that brutes are mere 
automata, destitute not only of intellect and feeling, but even 
of life. If the animal goes in pursuit of any object, he says, 
it is because an impression has been made upon its organs of 
sense, through which a spring is put in motion, that propels 
the beast in chase just as mechanically as the hands of a watch 
travel round its face after it has been wound up. Its inartic- 
ulate cries, which we wrongly interpret as signs of emotion, 
are, like the striking of a clock at determinate intervals, caused 
and regulated by its internal machinery. This is the noted 
hypothesis of the " animal-machines," which was discussed with 
so much spirit, both in prose and verse, especially in France, 
long after the death of its author. Fontenelle, though a Car- 



THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 329 

tesian in other respects, took sides on this question against his 
master, while Pascal, Malebranche, and the Port Royalists de- 
fended the doctrine of automatism. Voltaire, in his usual mis- 
chievous spirit, entered into the dispute, and enjoyed the fun 
of arguing that man is no better than a brute. 

In our own day, the disciples of Herbert Spencer, and the 
Evolutionists generally, take sides of course with Montaigne, 
and against Descartes. As they hold that all modes of being 
and forms of life, from the lowest to the highest, are succes- 
sively self-developed, through countless slight gradations, from 
the primitive atoms which are the formless elements of chaos, 
they necessarily believe that all the faculties of the human 
mind exist also, though in a rudimentary state, in the mental 
constitution of the inferior animals, and may even be traced in 
imagination much farther back, to the mud or dust whence 
those brutes originated. In his " Descent of Man," accordingly, 
Mr. Darwin assures us that u the difference in mind between 
man and the higher animals, great as it is, is certainly one of 
degree, and not of kind." In the affection of the dog for his 
master, for instance, he beholds the rudiments of the religious 
sentiment; in the social instincts he finds the elements of 
morality ; and in the inarticulate cries, " aided by gestures and 
movements of the muscles of the face," by which animals ex- 
press their emotions, he detects the origin of language. And 
Mr. Huxley, consistent fatalist as he is, contrives to unite the 
doctrine of Descartes with that of Montaigne, by maintaining 
that man also, like the dog, is an automaton only seemingly 
animate, and therefore does not essentially differ from the 
machine-brute ; since the higher grade of evolution that he 
has reached sufficiently accounts for what appears to be the 
greater skill expended upon his construction. 

Not much light is thrown upon the discussion of this subject 
by the marvellous stories, of which so many are current, of the 
signal forethought, prudence, and contrivance shown by partic- 
ular animals on special occasions. Few of these anecdotes are 
so well authenticated as to deserve full credit ; and they would 
not be reported but for their exceptional character. But only 
the habitual actions of the animal fully evince its real nature 
and capacities ; feats which it may be trained to accomplish, 



330 THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 

and acts done under an unusual combination of circumstances, 
and seldom or never repeated, cannot be safely interpreted as 
proofs of intelligence. Most of them can be readily explained 
away, since we can hardly suppose that a brute is any wiser 
at one time than at another, or that one can be much distin- 
guished for sagacity above his fellows. It is all a matter of 
interpretation and rather uncertain inference, since we know 
the animal, so to speak, only from the outside. We can only 
guess at the state of mind which impelled it to perform a cer- 
tain act, and we anthropomorphize too much when we attrib- 
ute it to the same motive and prevision which would induce us 
to do likewise. The same cry or gesture may spring from 
very different emotions under different circumstances, when 
the power of expression is very limited in its range. Thus, the 
barking of a dog may be either a cry of alarm, a note of defi- 
ance, an outbreak of weariness, or an invitation to joyous frolic. 
In all these cases, the dog is merely giving voice indiscrimi- 
nately to any strong emotion. The howling of the same ani- 
mal is certainly a mournful sound, but it is not necessarily 
sadness or grief that makes it howl. The essence of language 
is the purpose or intention to communicate definite thought or 
emotion to others, and not the mere fact that the feeling is 
thus imparted, though perhaps unintentionally. Through its 
inarticulate cries and gestures, the emotions of one animal may 
be made known to its fellows, and may thus actually spread an 
alarm among them, though certainly not intended as a signal 
of danger, since the same cries are often repeated when the 
animal is alone, and there are none who can profit by the 
warning. If the imprisoned starling, that so much excited the 
sickly sensibility of Laurence Sterne by its pitiful cry, "I 
can't get out," had been set at liberty by him, it would still 
have repeated the words as frequently as ever, and with quite 
as much perception of their actual meaning. 

Let us attempt to clear the way for the consideration of this 
difficult question by first enumerating the several powers and 
capacities which the lower animals unquestionably possess in 
common with man. We shall thus find ample grounds for our 
involuntary sympathy with many of them, and shall obtain a 
clearer understanding of the remaining points, wherein their 



THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 331 

marked deficiencies consist. In the first place, there is no out- 
ward act whatever, considered simply as an exercise of nerves 
and muscles, which brutes cannot perform about as well as 
man, or even better. They leap, run, climb, and swim ; they 
construct their homes, continue their species, and provide for 
their young ; they weep, 1 howl, and even articulate. Judging 
from the indications afforded by these outward acts, we have 
good reason to conclude that the senses of the lower animals, 
especially those of vision, hearing, and smell, are in many 
cases more acute and far-reaching than ours. It is equally 
evident that they have most of the emotions and passions, the 
desires and appetites, which incite and govern human conduct. 
They love, fear, and hate ; they are angry, emulous, and re- 
vengeful. They are capable of magnanimity, and often clearly 
indicate curiosity, admiration, and ennui. Most of them are 
gregarious in their habits ; they seek the company of their fel- 
lows, aid each other, are fond of sport, and distinguish their 
proper food. Their parental affections are very strong, leading 
almost to any amount of self-sacrifice, so long as their young 
need care and protection ; but when this period of dependence 
is outgrown, they seem no longer even to recognize their off- 
spring. They are also much under the influence of habit, and 
the imitative propensity appears clearly in many of them, the 
possibility of domesticating them, and training them to the 
service of man, depending largely upon the development of 
these two traits. 

Passing to the more intellectual part of their nature, it is 
obvious that many of the brutes have a vivid imagination, and 
most of them have great facility in recognizing scenes and in- 
dividuals of which they have had experience. A dog asleep 
upon the rug before the fire shows, by growls and barks, dis- 
tinctly enough, that he is stemming again in fantasy all the 
currents of a heady fight. Horses, dogs, and cats retrace with 
great precision a long road which they have but once travelled 

1 At least, Shakespeare declares that they do, and I hold that he is high author- 
ity in natural history. He says of the poor wounded stag, that 

" the big round tears 
Coursed one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase," 

as he stood on the verge of the brook, " augmenting it with tears." 



332 THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 

over, and never fail to stop at the gate or door which leads to 
their own home. The doctor's horse knows where most of the 
patients live as well as the doctor himself. I do not here al- 
lude to any of the cases of supposed sagacity, foresight, and 
contrivance which are clearly attributable to instinct, an anom- 
alous faculty with which all the lower animals are specially 
endowed; these are no indications of intellect properly so 
called, but are rather proofs of the absence of it, or of some 
serious defects of the mental constitution, which needs to be 
supplemented by the action of so wonderful a substitute as 
this for reason in the strict sense of the term. Such cases will 
be considered hereafter under their appropriate head as mani- 
festations of instinct. 

Animals are also capable of mental association, though they 
certainly do not associate ideas, for, as will be shown hereafter, 
they have no ideas. They have only the immediate presenta- 
tion through the senses of particular sights, sounds, odors, etc., 
together with the power of reviving these in imagination, of 
recognizing them as sensations formerly experienced, and of 
associating with them the emotions and passions with which 
they were originally accompanied. This is the simplest kind 
of association ; it can all be resolved into an effect of habit, 
and is therefore closely akin to the animal's power of retracing 
the road which it has once travelled. The brute associates 
strongly the passion or emotion once aroused with the im- 
plement, the person, or the act by which it was first excited. 
It may even happen, as the animal is more excitable at one 
time tban another, that the mere sight of the implement, or 
a menace of the repetition of the offensive act, will produce a 
greater burst of fury than resulted from the original infliction 
of pain. A dog will bear patiently a good deal of teasing, 
and a horse will submit to frequent touches with the whip, 
though by quickening their pace and trying to get out of the 
way, they show clearly enough that the act caused pain and 
resentment. But then comes a time when the brute is unusu- 
ally sensitive, and some trivial annoyance, or a mere flourish of 
the whip, will excite a dangerous burst of passion. An invari- 
ably attendant sight or sound, harmless in itself, is also asso- 
ciated with the offensive act as its sign or symbol ; and then 



THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 333 

the familiar cluck, chirrup, or whistle, will produce the required 
act or emotion as surely as if accompanied with a blow. These 
facts not only explain the theory and method of training do- 
mestic animals, but explain away many supposed cases of sa- 
gacity, of acting on a premeditated plan, and of nursing sup- 
pressed resentment till a fit opportunity arrives for its full 
manifestation. Man}*- such stories are told of the elephant, 
which one who has had large opportunities for observation has 
recently declared to be a remarkably stupid animal. 

What has thus far been admitted undoubtedly tends, as far 
as it goes, to place the human and the brute mind on a par 
with each other. Is there, then, any strongly marked and un- 
questionable defect in the latter, which, when taken together 
with all its causes and consequences, places an impassable 
gulf between the two? Undoubtedly there is. The brute 
is utterly incapable of using language ; it certainly cannot talk. 
This incapacity does not come from any defect in its physical 
organization, since parrots and several other birds may be 
taught to articulate words with great distinctness, and many of 
the mammalia can utter cries and make gestures which might 
by convention become as intelligible as the finger alphabet of 
the human deaf and dumb. Then their inability to talk must 
arise from the peculiarities of their mental constitution ; and 
an analysis of the intellectual processes which are involved in 
the intelligent use of language will show clearly what are the 
inherent defects in the brute mind. There was as much argu- 
ment as wit in the remark of a German naturalist, who said, 
"I will believe that animals have reason when one of them 
shall tell me so." Good old John Locke has been much ridi- 
culed for merely citing a story, which he does not profess to 
believe, about a parrot owned by Prince Maurice, in Brazil, 
which was able to keep up an intelligent conversation with its 
visitors. Any attempt to teach animals to use language mean- 
ingly would deservedly excite equal ridicule, since their utter 
incapacity in this respect is obvious, even to the vulgar. Laura 
Bridgeman, blind, deaf, and dumb from infancy, and thus ap- 
parently less fitted for communication with the external world 
than any of the vertebrate brutes, was yet mentally endowed 
with an innate capacity for the use of language, which has been 



334 THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 

so far developed by skilful instruction, that she now keeps a 
diary and writes letters with as large a use of significant phra- 
seology as most educated persons possess. There never was a 
better illustration than her case presents of the etymological 
meaning of the word "education," — that it signifies briyiging 
out of the mind its native capacities, and not merely putting 
into it any amount of useful information. But no Dr. Howe 
has ever been foolish enough to attempt to teach a parrot or 
a monkey to converse, to write a significant sentence, or to 
read what is thus written. Balaam's ass did not rebuke its 
master except by a miracle. 

What must be the nature of that inherent mental defect 
which produces this absolute incapacity for the use of intelligi- 
ble speech ? The answer to this question is not doubtful or 
far to seek. Every significant word in any language is the 
name or symbol of " a concept," — that is, of what we English 
formerly called " an abstract general idea." As John Locke 
remarked long ago, brutes cannot generalize, and therefore 
they have no ideas to express, and cannot attach any meaning 
to words as uttered by others. As Bisehoff wittily puts it, 
" the plain reason why animals cannot talk is that they have 
nothing to say." They can be taught the symbolism of a few 
proper names ; but proper names are not words, for they do 
not connote any meaning, and are therefore not susceptible of 
definition. Like a colored string hung round the neck, or a 
chalk mark on the back, they denote the particular and indi- 
vidual act, man, or other object that is intended, but do not per 
se connote any idea. If I previously know what message is to 
be imparted, the proper name or the wave of a handkerchief 
may point out to me the person to whom it is to be given. 
But such a name has no more significance in itself than the 
wave of the handkerchief. Every word, properly so called, is 
the name, not of an individual, but of a class, and it is applica- 
ble indifferently to all the members of the class, because it 
signifies (connotes) those qualities, and only those qualities, 
which are common to the whole class. Hence, comparison and 
discernment are needed in order to know what individuals be- 
long to the class ; abstraction is required so as to confine our 
attention to their common qualities ; and generalization is the 



THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 335 

mental power whereby we recognize the commonness of those 
attributes, and the universality of the word within the limits of 
that class. Each of the mental acts here enumerated is an ex- 
ercise of judgment; and the expression of judgments is the 
function of language. Hence, the proper unit or fundamental 
element of significant speech is, not the word, but the proposi- 
tion. A single word, " man," does not express any cognition, 
or impart any fact or incident, except so far as it is explicated 
and made clear to thought by one or more of the judgments 
out of which it was first constituted, such as " man is mortal," 
" man is rational," etc. Consequently, brutes cannot grasp the 
meaning of a word, because they are mentally incapable of 
forming a judgment, i. e., of thinking a sentence wherein a 
predicate is significantly affirmed of a subject. If one of them 
hears a word of command, it is to him only a symbol, like a 
whistle or wave of the hand, with which is associated a cer- 
tain emotion ; and through the unconscious force of habit, the 
emotion thus excited leads him to perform the act which his 
master intended. It is of no use to utter a sentence or state a 
proposition to him, for he cannot understand it, and it will 
have no more effect upon him than a single word, a catcall, or 
a gesture. The phrase, " the human understanding," is a ple- 
onasm, since every understanding is human or divine. The 
brute has no understanding, because it is incapable of thought 
strictly so called ; that is, of comparison, discernment, and 
classification. Through the force of habit and of associating 
emotions, as of pain and pleasure, with their signs, the animal 
is capable of being trained ; but it is not susceptible of educa- 
tion. Nothing can be brought out of its mind, because nothing 
preexists in it, which partakes of the nature of thought. Then 
the gulf between the brute and the human mind can never be 
bridged over ; the two things being radically unlike, one might 
as well attempt to develop a football into a syllogism. 

Because they have no thoughts of their own, and are incapa- 
ble of interpreting the thoughts of others, the lower animals, 
as Schopenhauer remarks, live entirely in the present. They 
have no proper past or future. Their mental horizon is strictly 
limited to the objects and events which now affect their senses. 
It is true that they may imagine sensations which do not actu- 



336 THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 

ally exist ; but they cannot distinguish them, as imagined, from 
those which are real. The past may be presented in imagina- 
tion, but it is not recognized as past ; that is, it is not con- 
sciously assigned to a definite previous experience. It is 
merely a fictitious enlargement of the scene that is actually 
before the eyes. Because incapable of comparison and discern- 
ment in thought, the animal cannot distinguish the fictitious 
from the real, or what is, from what was, present to sense. 
Hence, it probably does not apprehend either time or number, 
since these are not direct presentations of sense, but can only 
be cognized in thought. Indeed, time and number are mutu- 
ally dependent ; neither can be recognized without the other. 
Time can be thought only as a succession, a larger or smaller 
number, of moments ; and number can be apprehended only 
by telling off successive units through a longer or shorter inter- 
val of time. Many familiar facts seem to indicate that the 
brutes have no sense of number. One puppy after another 
may be secretly abstracted from a numerous litter, and the 
mother shows no uneasiness or sense of loss ; but she whines 
piteously after the last one is taken. The hen acts in a similar 
manner with a numerous brood of chickens. Hence, because 
incapable of numeration, the brute" cannot distinguish between 
a longer and a shorter interval of time ; that is, it has no ap- 
prehension of time as such. More briefly still, to distinguish 
the present from the past would require an act of comparison, 
which the animal has no power to perforin. Being without a 
conscious past, the brute is also without a future, since even to 
human foresight the future is only the shadow which the past 
throws in advance. The present moment, with its special 
sensations and emotions, its pleasures and its pains, either com- 
ing singly or associated by habit, forms the whole conscious 
life of the cat and the dog. They have no apprehension of the 
future, and therefore no dread of death. 

" The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, 
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? 
Pleased to the last he crops the flowery food, 
And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood." 

A very instructive analogy is pointed out by Leibnitz, in ex- 
pounding his system of the development of all living things, 



THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 337 

when he says that the inorganic world is an aggregate of un- 
developed or sleeping monads, an animal is a dreaming monad, 
and man is a monad that has been waked up. The whole 
mental life of a brute bears a close resemblance to the long- 
continued dream of a human being. In visions of the night, 
the friend, whom we lost long ago comes again before us, talks 
and acts with us in the old familiar way, and we recognize him 
as our friend and are not at all astonished at his living pres- 
ence, because we have not the slightest recollection of the fact 
that he died some ten years ago. At another time, some scene 
or incident of our early youth is again presented to us just as 
vividly as when we first witnessed it, and we are a boy once 
more, the many intervening years of manhood being totally 
forgotten. Crabbe has marked with his usual force and dis- 
tinctness this loss of the consciousness of time in our dreams : 

" There was I fixed, I know not how, 

Condemned for untold years to stay ; 
Yet years were not, — one dreadful now 

Endured no change of night or day. 
The same mild evening's sleeping ray 

Shone softly solemn and serene, 
And all that time I gazed away, 

The setting sun's sad rays were seen." 

Other objects and events flit before the mind's eye in a con- 
fused succession, incoherent, having no bond of union as causes 
and effects, or in any way influencing each other, and we do 
not wonder in the least at the strange manner in which they 
are jumbled together. The understanding is asleep, the senses 
are closed, but the imagination or picture-forming faculty is 
more vivid and active than ever, because the restraint in which 
it is usually held by the faculties of perception and reflection 
is now wholly taken away. We take no note of time. The 
agony of some fancied event, such as falling from a consider- 
able height, which ought to occupy only a few seconds, is in- 
definitely protracted, and we are not at all surprised that it 
lasts so long. But then, again, incidents in our life's history, 
which would fill out months and years, such as a voyage to 
the antipodes or a period of trial and imprisonment, are com- 
pressed into a few minutes, and we do not wonder at their 
brevity. What is very strange, the conscience or moral fac- 



338 THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 

ulty seems to be paralyzed during sleep. Very good men 
dream of committing frightful crimes without the least com- 
punction, and in fact, without consciousness that they are any- 
thing more than innocent recreations. Here too is a remark- 
able analogy with the brute mind, which is not immoral simply 
because it is wwmoral, — that is, without any sense of the dif- 
ference between right and wrong. 

We can now see how it is that the lower animals are unable 
to profit by their past experience, and therefore, either as in- 
dividuals or as a race, they are incapable of any mental im- 
provement. Experience is simply a record, whether preserved 
in memory or in writing, of former observations and exper- 
iments. It is a history of the past, in which we distinguish 
one class of events, as followed by certain consequences, from 
another class that were not so followed. Evidently this is an 
operation of memory, and of comparison and discernment, 
and therefore it is a function of thought strictly so called. 
We separate the instances of success from those of failure, 
noticing in each case the invariable antecedent or concomitant 
circumstances. Then, by the light of an a priori principle 
which no experience can justify, we assume that the future 
will resemble the past ; or, in other words, that the course of 
nature will be uniform in the future, as it has been in the 
past. I say, no experience can justify this assumption, for it 
relates to the future, while experience is concerned solely with 
the past. Experience can only say that the course of nature 
has been uniform ; but it is surely incompetent to declare 
what the course of nature will be. The future is always a lot- 
tery. I may have drawn a blank thousands of times ; but at 
the very next drawing, my number may come up a prize. Till 
within a recent period, innumerable observations went to show 
that the body of a quadrupedal mammal is never terminated 
by a bill like that of a duck ; but about a century ago, such an 
animal was discovered in the ornithorhynchus of New Hol- 
land. An exception to the law, now deemed to be universal, 
that every ruminating animal divides the hoof, may be found 
to-morrow. In truth, so far as the organic world is concerned, 
besides saying that the course of nature, in many respects, is 
tolerably uniform, we ought to add that nature never exactly 



THE HUMAN AND THE BEUTE MIND. 339 

repeats itself; for, as Leibnitz long ago remarked, no two 
whelps of the same litter, and no two leaves on the same bush, 
are ever precisely alike. A brute cannot be made wiser by any 
amount of experience, because it cannot compare and distin- 
guish, and is therefore incapable of apprehending any general 
truth, such as that which concerns the course of nature. It is 
always a slave of habit, whether the oft-repeated act is ben- 
eficial or injurious. It may be corrected by discipline, it is 
true ; but only because a feeling of pain or pleasure is thereby 
artificially and blindly associated with an action otherwise 
meaningless. 

Every one's observation of familiar facts will supply in- 
stances enough to prove this stationary character of the brute 
mind, which arises from its inability to profit by experience. 
The moth flies again into the flame which had repeatedly 
singed its wings within a few minutes. A bee or wasp, at- 
tempting to escape from a room which it had accidentally en- 
tered, will knock its head fruitlessly for a long time against 
the same pane of glass, though it might find free egress a few 
inches lower down. The typical form of nest, cell, or web, 
and the same routine of conduct, are blindly and persistently 
repeated, though a change of circumstances has made them in- 
adequate or useless for the end in view, and though a slight 
and easy modification of them would render them again useful 
and agreeable. The act and the structure which were needed, 
and even indispensable, while the animal was in its wild state, 
are renewed in its domesticated condition, though they have 
then become meaningless and even injurious. The tamed 
squirrel, which has received more food than it craves for the 
moment, will scratch at the bottom of its wire cage, and place 
a nut there, though it should have learned from experience 
that it is no longer necessary to hide a store of food for future 
exigencies. In like manner, a half-domesticated beaver, which 
had the run of the house, attempted to build a dam with any 
materials that came in its way, though there was no water 
near, and neither shelter nor concealment were now required. 
The lesson which nature originally taught the animal was so 
thoroughly learned that it is repeated by rote, come what 
may, evidently without any perception of its real meaning, or 



340 THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 

any ability to supplement it by the teachings of experience. 
Hence it is, that the peculiar home which every species of in- 
sect and bird constructs for itself is built on the same pattern 
through an indefinite lapse of centuries, no improvements be- 
ing copied from its neighbors, and none suggested by a forced 
change in its locality and modes of life. 

This essential defect of the brute mind enables us to appre- 
ciate the breadth of the gulf which separates it from the hu- 
man intellect, when we consider that man depends entirely 
upon experience for the preservation of his life, the fulfilment 
of his purposes, and the daily and even hourly regulation of 
his conduct. It is only by actual trial, and through many 
efforts, failures, and errors, that we learn the rules of pru- 
dence, and how to find our way through the labyrinth of this 
world's affairs. It is only by experience that we are enabled 
to keep out of fire and water, to distinguish our food from our 
poison, to separate our friends from our enemies, and either to 
help others or to save ourselves. On this single foundation, 
indeed, is built up the whole fabric of human knowledge ; for 
although primitive convictions and truths spiritually discerned 
enter into the structure, and in some measure regulate its 
growth and determine its character, these a priori elements 
become pertinent and available for the guidance of conduct 
only so far as actual occurrences furnish occasions on which we 
may reduce them to practice. They supply, to adopt Kant's 
phraseology, only the forms of cognition ; and these are com- 
paratively abstract and void, till our life's history furnishes the 
matter to which they are applicable. Conscience, for example, 
bids me observe certain principles of action, but leaves me to 
learn from observation how best to act upon them, and what 
are the tests of their due observance, either by myself or 
others. 

But each man's personal and individual experience is far too 
narrow and limited, especially in the earlier periods of life, to 
furnish adequate guidance for all exigencies that may arise, or 
a sufficient foundation for all the knowledge that he craves. 
It needs to be largely supplemented by other men's experience, 
whether these are our contemporaries or the members of former 
generations. Hence the peculiarly human endowment of Ian- 



THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 341 

guage as the indispensable means for the advancement of 
knowledge and the improvement of life through the cumula- 
tion of the experience of the race. The lower animals have 
no need of communicating with each other, because they have 
no useful lessons to teach ; as no one of them can put to any 
use the little store of his own experience, he would gain nothing 
by increasing this store through what might be added to it by 
his fellows. They cannot accumulate or transmit knowledge, 
beecause they are originally incapable of profiting by their own 
experience, and therefore have nothing to impart to others. 
As already remarked, they do not talk because they have 
nothing to say. 7 

We can now see a reason for the wonderful fact to which I 
have already adverted, that, at least in the organic living world, 
nature takes good care never to exactly repeat herself. She 
never, even by accident, makes any one living thing undistin- 
guishably like another. It is not that she is incapable of pro- 
ducing perfect uniformity in her work ; for she does produce it 
in the inorganic world, where uniformity is the rule and any 
departure from it is the exception. The specific gravity of any 
elementary substance, the proportions in which such substances 
are chemically united into compounds, the definite forms into 
which they crystallize, the modes of action, or affinities, of dif- 
ferent re-agents, and many other instances of nature's work in 
this province, are precisely similar to each other; they do not 
vary even by a hair's breadth. Far otherwise is it in the world 
of living organisms, where variety is the rule, and uniformity 
is the exception ; nay, it is not even the exception, for not one 
such exception — that is, no case of two indiscernables, can be 
produced. So far as I know, Leibnitz is the only philosopher 
of modern times who has noticed and duly emphasized this 
wonderful fact, for the statement of it is one of the three fun- 
damental axioms on which his whole system is founded. He 
calls this axiom " the sameness of indiscernables," which he 
interprets in a somewhat paradoxical manner to have just this 
meaning, that no two things can so resemble each other as to 
be indiscernable, for if they were, they would no longer be two 
thiugs, but one and the same. The illustration that he em- 
ployed while discussing the subject in the presence of the Prin- 



342 THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 

cess Caroline, as they were walking in a garden together, was 
that no two leaves precisely alike could be found on any bush. 
Another gentleman who was present took up the challenge, 
but after a long search was obliged to confess that the state- 
ment of Leibnitz was probably correct. A better illustration, 
as it seems to me, might be taken from the human face. Here, 
all the differences are crowded together within narrow com- 
pass, say within the limit of six by eight inches, and all the 
main features — brow, nose, eyes, cheeks, mouth, and chin — 
are constructed essentially on the same general pattern. But 
what a marvellous wealth of difference underlies all this uni- 
formity ! Among the many millions of human faces that peo- 
ple this earth no two can be found so nearly alike but that 
they are easily distinguishable at a glance. Once in a great 
while, indeed, a case of disputed identity comes before our 
tribunals of justice; but if there is no better ground of dis- 
pute than there was concerning the Tichborne claimant, though 
the genuine Sir Roger had not been seen for over thirty years, 
the jury would very quickly come to a verdict. Those who 
failed to see that Orton was not Tichborne had marvellously 
short memories. 

How the followers of Tyndall and Huxley are able to rec- 
oncile this measureless variety in nature with their theory, that 
all living things are turned out by machinery on purely me- 
chanical principles, is more than one can easily imagine. They 
hold even that thought, that wonderful psychical process 
which generated the poetry of Milton and the science of New- 
ton, is only the necessary mechanical result of the molecular 
changes of protoplasm. As the stimulus of an electric spark, 
they say, causes hydrogen and oxygen to unite into an equiv- 
alent weight of water, so the stimulus of preexisting living 
protoplasm causes carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen to 
generate an equivalent weight of other living protoplasm. 
There is no other reason for attributing a new entity, vitality, 
to the protoplasm thus produced, than for ascribing as a new 
entity, aquosity, to water. As it is by its mere chemical and 
physical structure that water exhibits its aqueous properties, 
it is also by its mere chemical and physical structure that 
protoplasm exhibits what are called its vital properties ; for in- 



THE HUMAN AND THE BKUTE MIND. 343 

stance, that it generates, inter alia, nerve substance or brain, 
and the brain thus formed generates its infinite wealth of 
thought. In short, this theory reduces psychology to physi- 
ology, physiology to chemistry, and chemistry to the mechan- 
ical action of molecules upon each other ; in other words, the 
whole series of intellectual and vital processes is accounted 
for as the continuous and uniform action of a self-generating 
machine. But if the brain thus becomes comparable to a 
large printing-office that is worked by machinery throughout, 
then I insist that the types must perfectly resemble each 
other, because struck from the same matrix, and one printed 
sheet must be indistinguishably like every other which has 
been impressed on what the printers call the same " form." 
But the fact is far otherwise. The types set up to furnish 
imprints of the human face divine never, even by accident, 
produce two impressions exactly alike. The thoughts printed 
on two brains at the same time and under the same circum- 
stances, or on the same brain at different times, are diversi- 
fied and individualized beyond all power of computation. Life 
and thought, as thus infinitely varied, cannot be the results 
of machinery. 

Now I say that this measureless variety of tint and out- 
line, with which nature individualizes all her living products, 
is the necessary means of enabling experience to do its appro- 
priate work. Only because every living man and animal is 
what the Scotch call kenspeckle — i. e., easily recognized — can 
any one of us profit by the lessons of the past as a guide to 
the future. Thus only are we enabled to select appropriate 
means for definite purposes and ends. Thus only can we dis- 
tinguish our friends from our enemies, him whom we may 
safely trust from him whom we must beware of, our food from 
our poison, my own child from a stranger to my blood, an 
explored country from a trackless waste. The whole fabric of 
civilized society may be said to depend upon the possibility 
of giving testimony on oath, that this particular man stole 
this particular horse. In other words, discrimination is neces- 
sary, and this, as we have seen, is the essential and distinctive 
element of human thought. 

But the question immediately arises, what substitute does 



344 THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 

the brute possess for this peculiar endowment whereby the 
human mind is made capable of doing its necessary work, and 
thereby of providing for self-preservation and all the manifold 
exigencies of its life. Such a substitute there must be. Man 
is enabled to provide for his wants only because he can profit 
by his own experience and that of his fellows ; while the brute, 
as we have seen, is not made one whit the wiser by any 
amount of experience, because it cannot properly distinguish 
one case from another, or discern the comparative faults and 
excellences of two of the same kind. How then can it pre- 
serve its life and perform its ordinary work ? The answer to 
this question brings us at once to the heart of our subject, as 
it shows that the greatest difference between the human and 
the brute mind is not one of defect on the part of the latter, 
but rather of an excellence, since it is the exclusive posses- 
sion of a faculty which so far transcends the power of human 
reason, that in its most common manifestations it appears in- 
scrutable, miraculous, and even divine. So far as the lower 
animals are guided by it, and they are all more or less under 
its control and dependent upon it, their actions appear to us 
not as subhuman, but as superhuman. Instinct is inspiration ; 
even Kant says of it that " it is the voice of God." The only 
adequate definition of instinct is, that it does all the work of 
experience without any aid from experience, so that man can 
only wonder at, but cannot understand, its operations. 

It is a curious and instructive fact, that we have no one 
word in the English language to express what the French call 
clairvoyance, and the Germans Hellsehen ; that is, the assumed 
power of knowing more than experience ever taught, or is 
even capable of teaching. I say, this is an instructive fact, 
because it indicates that practical and incredulous turn of the 
English mind, that large and roundabout common sense, which 
recoils with aversion from all idle tales of seeing into the 
future without any aid from the past ; of perceiving by imme- 
diate intuition what is obviously beyond the range of the 
senses ; and generally of accomplishing any feat which tran- 
scends our ordinary human faculties. We have not the name, 
because we do not believe in the thing. The French, and 
especially the Germans, are more fond of the marvellous, and 



THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 345 

more prone to accept it on insufficient evidence. The Scotch 
give to the power in question the name of " second-sight." 
The nearest approach that we can make to this meaning in 
English is our word " seer," or prophet, denoting one who 

" can look into the seeds of time, 
And say which grain will grow, and which will not." 

It is the power attributed by the vulgar to witches, demoniacs, 
somnambulists, and magnetized persons, but which no edu- 
cated and well-balanced mind is capable of believing that they 
actually possess. 

Now I affirm that this very marvellous faculty of Hell- 
sehen or clairvoyance, which no sensible person believes for a 
moment that any human mind has ever manifested, at least 
for the last eighteen centuries, is unquestionably possessed in 
high perfection by many, if not most, of the lower animals 
under the name of Instinct, and even by those who are as 
low down in the scale as the fishes and the insects. I might 
take, as a familiar instance, the often cited case of a kind of 
wasp, which stores up food of a kind which it never uses for 
itself, for the future sustenance of its young whom it is never 
to see, because its own life ends before theirs begins. This 
case is instructive, because such prevision, confessedly beyond 
the range of the animal's individual experience, seems also to 
be inexplicable even by the aid of Mr. Herbert Spencer's in- 
genious supplemental theory of the accumulated effects of 
transmitted ancestral experience. But as the heroic imagina- 
tions of the Evolutionists, which are not to be appalled by 
many difficulties so long as an opening can be forced through 
them by any suppositions, however violent, do attempt to ex- 
plain away such wonders by the combined influence of hered- 
ity and natural selection, — as Mr. Darwin does, for instance, 
in respect to the transmitted instincts of the working, neuter 
bees, — I will take another case of Instinct, which is undoubt- 
edly independent both of individual and ancestral experience. 
I refer to the marvellous power, which many animals unques- 
tionably possess, of finding their way home, or to their proper 
point of migration, unaided by their previous explorations. 
The stories seem to be well authenticated as to the possession 



346 THE HUMAN AND THE BKUTE MIND. 

of this remarkable instinct even by mammals, such as the dog, 
the cat, and the donkey, which have been carried away by 
sea for a great distance, and have then found their way home 
overland, unguided, by a route never before traversed by them 
or their progenitors. 

Migratory birds, including many who were hatched during 
the very season of their departure, wend their way twice a 
year through the trackless fields of air to far distant regions 
with so much precision, that one writer supposes them to pos- 
sess an instinctive knowledge of the cardinal points of the 
compass. The carrier pigeon, removed from London to Paris 
in a basket, so that it cannot observe the surroundings, and 
whose limited vision certainly cannot see the end of its jour- 
ney from the beginning, even if the curvature of the earth 
were not in the way, immediately on being released flies 
straight and swiftly to its former home. But men living in 
a sparsely settled country, or in the neighborhood of vast for- 
ests, have lost their way and died of exposure and privation, 
though distant only a few miles from their own doors. Bee- 
hunters, in our western country, are able to track the ordinary 
honey bee to its distant hive, because its instinct teaches it to 
fly home in what is called " a bee-line," that is, in one math- 
ematically straight. Two of them are caught, and then sep- 
arately released at points a few rods distant from each other, 
their several lines of flight being accurately noted ; where 
these two lines intersect, generally in a hollow tree at a dis- 
tance of one or two miles, the hive is found. This precision 
of flight cannot be explained by the insect's sharpness of 
vision, or by the elevation at which it flies ; for the hive may 
be in a thick forest, so that the intervening trees hide it, if 
one is but a rod or two distant in any direction. 

It must be still easier, and more hopeless, to lose one's way 
in the unexplored depths of ocean than even in a vast forest 
or a trackless desert. Here are no furrows or water-marks, 
and no possibility of vision beyond an extremely limited dis- 
tance ; all must be a vast expanse of blinding uniformity. 
Yet migratory fishes, like the salmon and the shad, after wan- 
dering through the ocean during the whole winter, return with 
unerring precision, when the breeding season approaches, to 



THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 347 

the very rivers which they left months before. The recent 
success of pisciculturists in stocking with the ova of these fishes 
distant streams never before frequented by them supplies more 
proof, if more were needed, that no store of inherited expe- 
rience can supply the needed road-marks and guidance. A 
familiar knowledge of the Tweed and the Shannon will not 
help the salmon fry to find its way at the antipodes in the 
rivers of Australia. The human navigator, though aided with 
compass, sextant, chronometer, chart, nautical almanac, and 
other instruments and records of systematized experience, di- 
rects his voyage with difficulty over the ocean surface, though 
his vision there extends for leagues in any direction. The 
salmon, guided only by instinct, and with no aids beyond the 
organs of its own body, follows its course far below, through 
the dimly-lighted depth of waters, with even greater security 
and precision. For it is a characteristic of instinct, that it 
never hesitates, wavers, or doubts ; and it makes no mistakes. 
Instantly, without stopping to think, for indeed it is incapable 
of thought, and however protracted and complex its task may 
be, it does just the right thing at just the right moment. 

In fact, every undoubted case of instinct involves the exer- 
cise of this mysterious power of Sellsehen or "second-sight;" 
for its nature is, to make laborious provision for exigencies 
that are still in the comparatively remote future, and of which 
the animal has had no experience whatever. The bird not yet 
a year old, how does it know that the cares of maternity are 
coming upon it, and must be met by the construction of a nest 
of which each species has its distinctive pattern? Properly 
speaking, of course, the animal does not see into the future, 
its vision being strictly limited to what is before it at the 
present moment. But its actions and endeavors are as wisely 
regulated as if it had far more than human foresight. Instinc- 
tive action is working for a purpose, without any consciousness 
of that purpose. That purpose is an all-important one, either 
for the continuance of the animal's own life, or the propaga- 
tion of its species. The long-continued and laborious work 
that is done for this purpose is usually distasteful for the mo- 
ment, involving a considerable sacrifice of the creature's pres- 
ent ease and enjoyment. But urged by an impulse stronger 



348 THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 

than death, it lifts the self-imposed burden and bears it stoutly 
to the end, uncheered even by that which is the great solace 
of all human labor, the hope of future happiness which is to 
reward the performance of duty. The action of instinct bears 
some resemblance to what man does under the influence of 
habit, his work having become a mere routine which he per- 
forms without reflection, and almost without consciousness. 
But habit is not instinct, for it is slowly generated and per- 
fected by experience ; while instinct, perfect from the mo- 
ment of the animal's birth, is altogether independent of expe- 
rience. 

Instinct is certainly given to the brutes as a substitute both 
for reason, and for experience which supplies the materials on 
which human reason operates ; and in truth, we know that the 
two faculties exist in inverse ratio to each other. As at the 
bottom of the scale, in the lowest animal, there is certainly no 
trace of reason, so at the top, in man, there is no vestige of 
instinct. In the human being, it is true, we find natural and 
primitive emotions and appetites, which are often loosely called 
" instinctive." But they do not deserve the name, for they 
dictate only the end to be pursued, but do not guide us, as 
instinct would, in selecting the right means for its attainment. 
On the contrary, the stronger the feeling or desire, too fre- 
quently are we the more mistaken in our eager attempts to 
gratify it, which often defeat the very purpose we have in view. 
Instinct does not commit such blunders. I have already al- 
luded to the fact that the highest and most marvellous instincts 
are manifested far down in the scale, among ants, spiders, and 
bees, and are comparatively infrequent among the vertebrates. 
But even here, birds show more numerous and more complex 
instincts than mammals, and fishes are guided more by what 
answers to inspiration than by habit. Hence, as Professor 
Mivart remarks, " the more instinctive a man's actions are, 
the less are they rational, and vice versa ; and this amounts to 
a demonstration that reason has not, and by no possibility 
could have been, developed from instinct. " When two facul- 
ties tend to increase in inverse ratio, it becomes unquestion- 
able that the difference between them is one of kind." This 
is the case with respect to sensation and perception. Both Dr. 



THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 349 

Reid and Sir William Hamilton have noticed the fact, that 
as the sensation becomes intense — looking at the full blaze of 
the sun, for instance, — the cognitive perception of shape, 
color, and other attributes diminishes ; and conversely, as the 
perception becomes more distinct, the mere sensation fades 
out into indifference, and no longer gives either pain or pleas- 
ure. This is the case in reading a printed page, where the 
cognitive faculty comes into play almost exclusively, and the 
mere visual sensations of black figures on a white ground are 
hardly noticed ; we are absorbed by the thought and disre- 
gard the symbols. We have here one instance of the oppo- 
sition between mere feeling, which is a purely subjective state 
of mind, and the objective cognition of rock, tree, or water. 
In fact, perception proper is a rational process, which needs 
the aid of the understanding or thinking faculty, in order to 
compare, discern, and judge, and cannot be completed without 
it. The brute merely stares at a novel object, and does not 
properly take it in, or understand it. He has sensation from 
it, but no proper perception of it. But man, though perhaps 
seeing the object for the first time, still in a certain degree 
recognizes it, or knows it over again, saying, " this is a tree, 
or a house." Judgment, a purely intellectual act of which 
the brute is incapable, is involved in every act of perception 
strictly so-called. 

The instinct which guides the ant and the bee is really the 
same with the power, or agency, call it what you may, which 
directs the physiological processes that paint the peacock's tail 
with so complex and gorgeous a pattern, and arrays shells and 
flowers in their decorated holiday garb. Indeed, the process of 
development, through which the whole organism is built up on 
a complex but definite plan, with its machinery of limbs, mus- 
cles, joints, and nerves, and its adornment of plumage, shell, 
and scales, is but half of the work necessary to be accomplished 
before the animal is fitted to play the part assigned to it in 
nature's scheme, and thus to preserve its own life and continue 
its species. Together with the organs and other physical 
means of doing its work, it must have the knowledge and skill 
requisite for making the proper use of those means, and direct- 
ing them towards the appropriate ends to be accomplished. 



350 THE HUMAN AND THE BRUTE MIND. 

The instinct and the organism in which it is lodged are neces- 
sarily related to each other, as parts of one whole ; any change 
in either of the two factors would incapacitate the animal for 
its task, if it were not accompanied by a corresponding change, 
nicely adapted to it, in the other. Thus, in the spider, the 
gland which secretes the viscid fluid, which is the raw material 
for constructing the web, must be correlated with the instinct 
for drawing out the threads and weaving them into the peculiar 
pattern of that web ; and both these processes again must be 
nicely correlated to the general purpose in view, that of en- 
trapping its prey. Webbed feet and plumage impervious to 
wet must be correlated with the instinct to take the water and 
swim ; as is clearly seen in the case of ducklings that have 
been hatched out by a hen, as in this case the instinct cannot 
have been acquired by instruction, experience, or imitation. 
Many birds instinctively hide their nests, both by building 
them in crevices and corners not exposed to open view, and by 
assimilating them to the color of the surrounding rock or foli- 
age. In like manner, the agency, whatever it may be, which 
constructs the animal's organism, often provides for its protec- 
tion through concealment by similar means, as by assimilating 
the color of its skin or plumage to that of its surroundings, or 
by mimicry of forms of a different nature, — - for instance, by 
imitating the color and external structure of a dead leaf. Even 
man has an involuntary and almost unconscious impulse to 
imitate actions in which he is much interested, as when we 
cough or yawn by contagion, or writhe and twist our bodies in 
sympathy with the rope-dancer whom we are gazing at. Rea- 
soning from analogy, then, we may well conclude, that it is an 
imitative impulse, though a wholly unconscious one, which 
gradually assimilates the insect's color and external form to a 
dead leaf, or some other shape seemingly so fantastic that it 
appears like a purposeless freak of nature. But then we must 
also admit, that the ordinary process of building up the ani- 
mal's whole body in the normal way, after the common type of 
its species, is throughout the animal's own act, though a blind 
and unconscious one, performed under the guidance of a 
higher power. It is not the brain which generates the instinct, 
but it is the instinct which constructs the brain, as well as 
every other portion of the organism. 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

FROM THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW FOR NOVEMBER, 1879. 

The doctrine of the perfectibility of the human race was first 
systematically taught by a school of philosophical radicals to- 
ward the close of the last century. It was a natural outgrowth 
of the extravagant hopes that were created by the earlier stages 
of the French Revolution. Condorcet, while he was in hiding 
in order to escape the fate of the Girondists, showed the firm- 
ness of a philosopher by writing his " Sketch of the Progress 
of the Human Mind," in which he predicted the removal of all 
social and political evils, and the establishment of peace, vir- 
tue, and happiness over the whole earth. He was arrested be- 
fore the work was completed, and escaped the guillotine only 
by a self-inflicted death. In England, William Godwin pub- 
lished, in 1793, his " Political Justice," in which he advocated 
the same doctrines that Condorcet had taught, and almost with 
equal peril to himself ; since the Government and the populace 
at that period, as Dr. Priestley found to his cost, showed little 
mercy to those who were accused of holding revolutionary opin- 
ions. Godwin attributed nearly all the vices and misery with 
which society is afflicted to bad government and bad laws. Re- 
form these, he said ; do away with the institutions of property 
and marriage, which are based on monopoly and fraud, es- 
tablish the equality of all men, and all wars and contentions 
will cease, and the spirit of benevolence, guided by justice, will 
distribute equitably the bounteous fruits of the earth among 
all persons according to their several needs. 

In 1T98, as an answer to Godwin's " Political Justice," the 
Rev. T. R. Malthus published his " Essay on the Principle of 
Population, or a View of its Past and Present Effects on Hu- 
man Happiness." This work had early and great success; it 



352 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

formed the basis on which, in great part, during the first half of 
the present century, the English science of Political Economy 
was constructed. Of course, it was deeply imbued with pessi- 
mist opinions. The author's purpose was to show that the prin- 
cipal evils with which human society is afflicted are ineradica- 
ble, having their root in human nature itself, so that they are 
sure to break out anew, and with increased virulence, after any 
temporary alleviation. Misery and crime, he argued, are not 
produced to any considerable extent by laws and institutions 
of man's device, and certainly are not curable by them. Pov- 
erty and want are their chief source, and these are the inevita- 
ble results of Over-Population and the consequent Struggle for 
Existence. A blind and insatiable craving urges man to mul- 
tiply his kind, and the necessary consequence of gratifying this 
impulse is, that the increase of the population has a constant 
tendency to outrun the means of subsistence. At present, 
some restraint is put upon this increase by prudential consid- 
erations ; since most persons consider the irremediableness of 
marriage, and fear to create an obstacle to their success in life 
by burdening themselves with the support of a family. Let us 
suppose, then, that this restraint is taken away, by a removal 
of all the causes which now render it an act of imprudence for 
either sex to gratify their natural inclinations. Let us suppose 
that property is equally distributed ; that marriage is no longer 
an indissoluble tie ; that wars and contentions have ceased ; 
that unwholesome occupations and habits of life no longer pre- 
vail ; that medical skill and foresight have stamped out all pre- 
ventable diseases ; that the people no longer congregate in 
great cities, those nurseries of vice and disease, but are dis- 
tributed over the face of the country, and are engaged chiefly 
in healthful agricultural operations ; and that the community, 
as Plato recommended, undertake the whole care and support 
of all the children that are born, instead of allowing them to 
become a particular burden to their parents. Is it not evident 
that, under such circumstances, population would multiply more 
rapidly than ever, and that there would soon be, not only a 
lack of food, with a swift return of all the evils consequent upon 
poverty and famine, but even a want of standing-room for the 
multitudes claiming place upon the surface of the earth ? 



MALTHUSIANISM, DAEWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 353 

"How small, of all that human hearts endure, 
That part which kings and laws can cause or cure ! " 

For the law is common to the vegetable and animal king- 
doms, the human race included, that the rate of increase, how- 
ever slow or rapid it may be, must operate in the way of a 
geometrical ratio. The same causes which double a population 
of one thousand will double a population of one thousand mil- 
lions. For example : a given rate of increase, between 1790 
and 1800, added only 1,200,000 to the white population of 
this country ; between 1830 and 1840, the same rate of increase 
added 3,600,000. Our population was more than doubled be- 
tween 1790 and 1820 ; it was again more than doubled between 
1820 and 1850. But the former doubling added less than five 
millions to our numbers, while the latter one added over ten 
millions ; and the next doubling, in 1880, will have added con- 
siderably more than twenty millions. Inevitably then, if the 
population increase at all, it must increase in the way of a geo- 
metrical progression — that is, as the numbers 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, etc. 

But the means of subsistence, at best, cannot possibly be 
made to increase faster than in an arithmetical ratio — that is, 
as the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, etc. The surface of the earth 
affords only a limited extent of ground, and this is of various 
degrees of fertility, large portions of it being hardly cultivable 
at all. By putting more ground in cultivation and improving 
the modes of agriculture, it is conceivable that, within twenty- 
five years, the quantity of food should be doubled. But it is 
not conceivable that more than this should be accomplished ; 
that is, that the second twenty-five years should make a larger 
addition to the existing stock than was obtained during the 
former period. Hence, under the most favorable supposition 
that can be made, beginning with an annual product equal to 
one million bushels of wheat, at the end of the first quarter of 
a century this might be raised to two millions, at the end of 
the second quarter to three millions, and at the close of the 
third period to four millions. 

Of course, the population cannot actually outrun the supply 
of food, though it is constantly, as it were, striving to do so 
and battling for the ground. It is restrained, first, by what 
Malthus calls the preventive check, which consists in the exer- 

23 



354 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

cise of moral restraint, whereby some persons repress their 
natural inclinations, and either do not marry at all, or post- 
pone the time of marriage till comparatively late in life. This 
check keeps down the increase of numbers through diminish- 
ing the proportion of births. Where this fails to operate to a 
sufficient extent, the second, or positive, check must come into 
play, by increasing the number of deaths, through insufficient 
nourishment, overcrowding, disease, and crime. Vainly does 
private munificence or public liberality seek to remove the 
proximate causes of these evils. Interference only does harm. 
Leave the poor alone, then, say the Malthusians, to be chas- 
tised by fever, hunger, and misery into a sense of their obliga- 
tion to society to refrain from increasing their own numbers. 
The more numerous the family of the pauper, the less claim 
he has to relief ; his own suffering and that of his family must 
be his punishment, for thus only can his neighbors be taught 
prudence. Sanitary measures are equally inefficient. Check 
the ravages of the small-pox by vaccination ; then typhus fever, 
the Asiatic cholera, or a famine must supervene in order to 
keep down the superfluity of life. Hence McCulloch, a lead- 
ing economist of this school, talked of " the irretrievable helot- 
ism " of the English working classes, and advised his country- 
men, in view of it, " to fold their arms and leave the denoue- 
ment to time and Providence." 

The theory of Malthus at once became popular in England, 
not only because it refuted the revolutionary doctrines of men 
like Godwin and the French Jacobins, but because it seemed 
to relieve the rich from any responsibility for the sufferings of 
the poor, and from any obligation to contribute to their sup- 
port. " If my conclusions are adopted," said Malthus in his 
preface, " we shall be compelled to acknowledge, that the pov- 
erty and misery which prevail among the lower classes of so- 
ciety are absolutely irremediable." And these conclusions 
seemed incontrovertible, for they rested upon a basis of mathe- 
matical calculation, and were supported by an appeal to the 
obvious facts, that the poor man is made still poorer by the 
possession of a large family, and that destitution and suffering 
are most prevalent in localities where the population is most 
dense. Consequently, pauperism should be regarded as a crime, 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 355 

and should be stamped out, like the cattle-disease, by harsh 
legislative measures. These opinions led to the enactment, in 
1834, of the New Poor Law, the avowed purpose of which was 
to prevent what is called " outdoor relief," and to collect the 
destitute and starving in Union workhouses, where, as in jails, 
the separation of the sexes, the lowness of the diet, and the 
general severity of the regimen should be a terror to the evil- 
doers who had presumed to burden society with their super- 
fluous progeny. If the crime was not literally theirs, it was 
at any rate their parents' fault, and the sins of the fathers 
must be visited upon the children in order to deter others from 
like offences. " Go to the workhouse, or starve," was hence- 
forth to be the answer to all applicants for parochial relief ; 
and the reader of Dickens need not be reminded that many of 
them preferred the latter alternative. 

It seems strange that Malthusianism should become an ac- 
cepted doctrine not only with the Tories and the landed gen- 
try, but with the Whig doctrinaires generally, the wealthy 
manufacturers, and especially the Philosophical Radicals of the 
Benthamite school, whose leaders were the elder and the younger 
Mill. The " Edinburgh Review " advocated it strenuously. 
Miss Martineau, of whom, as well as of Jeremy Bentham, it 
must be confessed that the practice was in strict conformity 
with the principles, inculcated it in a pathetic love-story, which 
formed one of her " Illustrations of Political Economy." The 
Benthamites did not allow any morality of sentiment or deli- 
cacy upon this subject to conflict with their principles of thor- 
oughgoing utilitarianism ; for it was openly charged against 
some of their leaders, about 1830, that they caused placards to 
be posted in the most crowded districts of the great manufact- 
uring towns, in order to teach the laboring poor the same de- 
testable opinions and practices for disseminating which Besant 
and Bradlaugh have recently been convicted and punished. 
John S. Mill was so provoked with the people of the United 
States for multiplying rapidly, that he pointed his censure of 
our folly with this coarse sneer, directed against the Northern 
and Middle States : " They have the six points of Chartism, 
and they have no poverty ; and all that these advantages 
do for them is, that the life of the whole of one sex is de- 



356 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

voted to dollar-hunting, and of the other to breeding dollar- 
hunters." 

But the triumph of Malthusianism lasted only for about 
half a century, and its decline and fall have been even more 
rapid than its rise. The tide turned about the time of the 
famine in Ireland in 1846-1847, and the consequent fearful 
exodus from that unhappy island, which, in less than ten 
years, deprived it of full one fourth of its population. In 1845, 
the number of persons in that country was estimated at 8,295,- 
000 ; and they were increasing with considerable rapidity. In 
1851, the population was only 6,574,278 ; and in 1871, it was 
less than five and one half millions, being a diminution of 
nearly thirty-five per cent. The Malthusians themselves were 
appalled at such a result. For the evil did not stop with the 
immediate diminution of numbers ; as usual in such cases, it 
was chiefly those who were in the flower of life, the healthy 
and the strong, who emigrated, leaving behind them the aged, 
the feeble, and the diseased. Hence, the people at home de- 
teriorated in vitality and working power even in a higher ratio 
than their decrease in numbers. At the same period, there 
was also a great emigration, though by no means to an equiv- 
alent extent, from England, and especially from Scotland, where 
the great land-owners had acted on Malthusian principles by 
depopulating their vast estates, unroofing the cottages over 
their tenants' heads, and thus compelling them to ship them- 
selves beyond sea. Then came the great trials of the Crimean 
war and the Indian mutiny, with the attendant difficulty of 
recruiting the army, so that the country awoke to a knowl- 
edge of the sad truth that, in banishing their people or pre- 
venting their increase, they were drying up the sources of their 
productive power and their military strength. 

These events procured a hearing for the arguments with 
which Mr. Samuel Laing, the noted traveller and social econo- 
mist, Mr. W. T. Thornton, the author of " Over-Population 
and its Remedy," Colonel P. Thompson, and others, had al- 
ready vigorously assailed the doctrine of Mai thus. In the 
" North American Review " also, (October, 1847, July and 
October, 1848,) this pessimistic theory of population was im- 
pugned on general grounds, and with facts drawn from Ameri- 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 357 

can experience. At present, a mere glance at the considera- 
tions drawn from these various sources, which afford a decisive 
refutation of Malthusianism, must suffice. 

The actual limit to the growth of the population in any 
country is, not the quantity of food which it alone is capable 
of producing from its own soil, but the quantity which it is 
able and willing to purchase from other lands. Practically, 
then, the only limit for it is the number which the surface of 
the whole earth is capable of feeding. The world is far from 
being over-peopled yet, and the amount of food which it can 
produce is so immensely in excess of the present demand, that 
any deficit in the supply cannot reasonably be anticipated for 
thousands of years to come. Europe alone is able to feed, 
from its own resources, a population five times as great as its 
present number, before it will be as thickly peopled and as 
fully cultivated as Belgium is now ; and the additional supplies 
which it might obtain, if needed, from our own Mississippi 
Valley, from South America, South Africa, Australia, Cali- 
fornia, and Mexico, are so vast that they cannot be computed. 
Savage tribes do not multiply at all, but rapidly become ex- 
tinct as soon as they are brought in contact with civilization ; 
and even half-civilized races, like the Turks, Arabs, Tartars, 
Hindoos, and Chinese, are either stationary or diminishing in 
number. Turkey in Europe, Asia Minor, Mesopotamia, and 
Turkistan were probably more populous two thousand years 
ago than they are now. In every way, therefore, man, not 
Providence, is in fault. The bounties of nature are practically 
inexhaustible ; but men are too ignorant, indolent, and self-in- 
dulgent, too much the slaves of their lower appetites and pas- 
sions, to profit by them. 

At present, therefore, and for an indefinite period still to 
come, the only limit to the quantity of sustenance which any 
nation is able to procure, either by cultivating its own soil or 
by importation from other countries, is the amount of wealth 
which it is capable of producing Hence, civilized nations, let 
them multiply as fast as they may, do not direct their ener- 
gies chiefly to the raising of food, but to the acquisition of 
wealth. And, for the attainment of this end, any increase of 
their numbers, far from being an obstacle, is a help ; for, if 



358 MALTHUSIANISM, DAEWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

there are more mouths to be fed, there are more hands to feed 
them with. An increase of the population is, pro tanto, an in- 
crease of productive power, and it makes no difference whether 
the article produced is food, or a commodity immediately ex- 
changeable for food. One pair of hands, if allowed fair play, 
can more than satisfy the demands of one stomach, so that 
there wil] always remain a surplus for the gradual accumula- 
tion of wealth. Less than one fifth of the people of England 
now devote themselves directly to agriculture, because the 
other four fifths find that, in the various pursuits of manufact- 
ures and commerce, they can equally well obtain the means 
of satisfying their hunger, and gradually become rich by hav- 
ing a larger surplus. The increase of their numbers does not 
compel them to cultivate inferior soils near home, but enables 
them to purchase grain and beef raised on the fat prairies of 
Illinois or the fertile plains of southeastern Europe. London 
taxes all the counties of England for sustenance ; England 
taxes all the countries of the earth for sustenance. Is there 
any greater hardship or difficulty in the latter case, than in the 
former one ? 

In these modern days, with our improved means of com- 
munication by steam and telegraph, extreme poverty is the 
only possible cause of a famine ; and even this poverty is at- 
tributable, not to the absolute lack of wealth, but solely to its 
unequal distribution. It was so in the Irish famine of 1846, 
1847, and in the Indian famine two years ago. When the 
suffering was at its height, ship-loads of corn and meal were 
turned away from the Irish ports, and of rice from Madras and 
Calcutta, solely from the want of a market. In either case, 
also, great wealth was near at hand ; but it belonged ex- 
clusively to the few, and was accessible by the many only in 
the hard form of charity. The fate both of the Irish and the 
Hindoos was the more terrible because they starved in the 
midst of plenty. 

On examining the facts in the case more closely, it will al- 
ways be found, that it is not the excess of population which 
causes the misery, but the misery which causes the excess of 
population. Hopeless poverty makes men imprudent and 
reckless, and leads them to burden themselves with a family, 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 359 

because they cannot be worse off, and there is no possibility 
of improving their condition. In Switzerland, where the land 
is parcelled out among small proprietors, the peasantry obtain 
a comfortable livelihood, and therefore increase so slowly 
that the population will not double itself in less than two 
hundred and twenty-seven years. In France, where also the 
land is cut up into very small estates, and the peasantry are 
vastly better off than in England, the rate of increase for the 
population for ten years is only five per cent. In England, for 
the same period, it was fifteen per cent. ; and in Connaught, 
the sink of Irish misery and degradation, between 1821 and 
1831, it was as high as twenty-two per cent. In Galway and 
Mayo, notoriously two of the most destitute counties, during 
the same period, there was an increase in the one case of 
twenty-seven, and in the other of twenty-five, per cent. — 
nearly as great as in the United States. Thus, the two ex- 
tremes of general misery and general well-being produce very 
nearly the same effect on the movement of the population. 

In all old countries, which have long since outgrown what 
may be called the Colonial period, during which, as in Aus- 
tralia and the western portion of the United States, the abun- 
dance and cheapness of new land waiting to be taken into cul- 
tivation tempt most of the people to engage in agriculture — 
in all old countries, I say, that is, throughout Europe and the 
most populous parts of Asia, the true law determining the 
increase of the population is the very opposite of that which 
the Malthusians sought to establish. They would have us be- 
lieve that, in proportion as people are well off and have abun- 
dance of food, they multiply all the faster ; while the poorer 
classes, kept down by the positive check — that is, by the pri- 
vations, famines, and diseases generated by over-population — 
do not multiply at all. But the facts prove beyond all ques- 
tion, that the increase of any class of the people is in inverse 
proportion to its wealth and social rank — that is, to the 
amount of sustenance which it can easily command. Univer- 
sally the law is, that the numbers of the poor increase most 
rapidly, of the middle classes more slowly, and of the upper or 
wealthier ones either not at all, or so slowly as hardly to be 
perceptible. " By a singular anomaly," says Alison, a well- 



360 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

informed English writer upon the subject, " the rapidity of in- 
crease is in the inverse ratio of the means which are afforded 
of maintaining a family in comfort and independence. It is 
greatest when these means are least, and least when they are 
the greatest." 

Thus, in Sweden, the official returns from the census and 
the registration of births, deaths, and marriages show, that the 
rate of increase for the peasantry is nearly six times greater 
than that of the middle class, and over fourteen times greater 
than that of the nobles. In England, it is a matter of common 
observation that the families of the nobility and landed gentry 
constantly tend to die out, and, if they were not recruited by 
promotions from the middle classes, the upper orders of society 
would gradually disappear. Of the barons who sat in the Eng- 
lish House of Lords in 1854, the peerage of considerably more 
than one half does not date back beyond 1800 ; and not more 
than thirty of them can boast that their ancestors were en- 
nobled before 1711. The continued and increasing opulence 
of the landed gentry of England is chiefly attributable to this 
cause ; since the diminution of their numbers tends, of course, 
to the concentration of their estates. Celibate or childless 
lives are common among the younger sons of the nobility and 
gentry, while they are very infrequent in the classes of artisans 
and laborers. Even here, in the eastern part of the United 
States, the sons in educated and wealthy families marry later 
in life, and have fewer children, than those in the classes who 
live by handiwork ; while the Irish laborers are the most pro- 
lific of all. No farther back than the beginning of this century, 
families containing from ten to fifteen children each were not 
infrequent here in New England ; now, one that has more 
than six is seldom found, except among the very poor. 

Since 1850, therefore, English writers upon political economy 
have generally ceased to advocate Malthusianism and its sub- 
sidiary doctrines. Many, like Doubleday and Macdonell, be- 
sides those already mentioned, renounce it altogether ; others 
pass over it in silence, or, like Fawcett, lend it only a half- 
hearted support. Even J. S. Mill, who inculcated it like a 
fanatic in his great work published in 1847, seems to have 
changed his opinions entirely before his death. In his discus- 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 361 

sions with Mr. Thornton, he gave up " the wage-fund " doc- 
trine, one of the principal corollaries from Malthusianism ; and 
in his posthumous papers upon Socialism, published in the 
" Fortnightly Review " in 1879, he expressly teaches that mis- 
ery causes an increase of the population, instead of the con- 
verse proposition, that over-population produces the misery, 
which is the essence of the Malthusian theory. 

Singularly enough, in 1860, at the very time when this 
gloomy doctrine of " a battle for life " had nearly died out in 
Political Economy, most of the authorities upon the subject 
having quietly abandoned it as an indefensible speculation, it 
was revived in Biology, and made the basis in that science of 
a theory still more comprehensive and appalling than that 
which had been founded upon it by Malthus. Among the 
countless forms of vegetable and animal life which are devel- 
oped through the hereditability of casual variations from the 
ancestral type, " a struggle for existence " is constantly going 
on ; and it is a necessary consequence of this struggle that the 
fittest forms — that is, those whose organs are best adapted to 
their surroundings — should survive, and that the others, the 
comparatively unfit, should perish. " The struggle for exist- 
ence among all organic beings throughout the world," sa} r s 
Mr. Darwin, " inevitably follows from their high geometrical 
powers of increase ; " and he adds, " This is the doctrine of 
Malthus applied to the whole animal and vegetable kingdoms." 
Hence, every improvement, however slight, in the adaptation 
of any species to its environment tends inevitably and mechan- 
ically, as it were, to make that species a victor in the battle 
with all its competitors not possessing such improvement. The 
accumulation of these improvements upon each other to an un- 
limited extent fully accounts for the marvellous adaptations of 
means to ends in organic life, which were formerly supposed 
to have been contrived and brought about by a designing mind. 
Every one admits that such adaptations exist. Darwinism de- 
nies that they are purposed and intended adaptations. And 
this denial is based upon the Malthusian theory of Over-Popu- 
lation, and must stand or fall with that theory. 

Then we have only to recur to the facts which have dis- 
proved Malthusianism as a principle in Political Economy, in 



362 MALTHUSIANISM, DABWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

order to find in them also a complete refutation of Darwinism. 
In the Struggle for Existence between the different classes of 
human beings, it is the loiver classes which survive, because they 
are more prolific than those above them ; while the upper 
classes, just in proportion to the degree of their elevation, 
either increase very slowly, or tend to die out altogether. And 
this victory of the lower classes in the battle for life is a sur- 
vival, not of the fittest, but of the unfittest, so that it constantly 
tends to a deterioration of the race, instead of contributing to 
its improvement. Of course, the upper classes enter into the 
contest seemingly with all the advantages on their side. Ac- 
cording to Darwinism, the odds are altogether in their favor : 
for they have more developed, because better educated, intel- 
lects; they are free from the many peculiar temptations to 
vice and crime, and the countless liabilities to disease, which 
beset the poorer classes. On account of their wealth, they 
have nothing to dread from a famine, and very little from a 
pestilence, since by removal they can generally get out of its 
range. They are not early broken down by excessive toil ; 
they are not crowded together in unhealthy habitations ; they 
are protected against the extremes of heat and cold ; they 
have abundant opportunities, by which they profit more or 
less, for healthful exercise in the open air. Hence they have 
sound constitutions and transmit sound constitutions to their 
children, being aided thereto, also, by a wider range of sexual 
selection in marriage. On account of all these favorable circum- 
stances, the death-rate among them is very low — much lower 
than among those who are far beneath them in the social scale. 
But all these advantages, and the improved organization 
which is founded upon them, if considered as means and helps 
toward a victory of the upper classes in the battle for life, are 
as nothing when compared with the one signal disadvantage 
under which these classes labor, that the birth-rate among 
them, through their own fault, is very low, so that they in- 
crease slowly, or not at all. Nature is just: those who seem 
to be her pets are, for the very reason that they are more pam- 
pered than the others, in greater peril of extinction. Among 
the combatants in the great struggle, those who triumph are 
almost always the more prolific, and those who are satisfied 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 363 

with food which, though coarser, is more abundant and accessi- 
ble. Those who are rich and are high in the social scale are 
too dainty in their appetites. They prize too highly the luxu- 
ries, the social advantages, on which they have been fed. They 
will not imperil their position by contracting a hasty or other- 
wise imprudent marriage, or by cumbering themselves with an 
inconveniently large family. In countries where the distinc- 
tions of rank are so strongly defined and deeply rooted as to 
appear insurmountable, many are contented to lead lives of li- 
centious celibacy, because they dread social more than moral 
death. And everywhere, the men of affluence and culture, the 
highly born and highly bred — the Brahmans of society, as Dr. 
Holmes calls them — prize the refinements of life, and the 
gratification of their social and artistic tastes, more than the 
homely comforts and enjoyments which any one may have who 
can induce some good-natured woman to share them with him. 
Of course, their society soon becomes very select through be- 
coming exceedingly small. " Old families," as they are called, 
have a trick of rapidly dying out, as if to make room for a race 
of pretenders and parvenus. The Faubourg St.-Germain is 
not the only place in the world which is tenanted by the ghosts 
of a departed aristocracy. It is quite unnecessary to cite sta- 
tistics in order to corroborate these statements. Any one may 
convince himself of the truth of them who will look round 
among the families of his acquaintance, ascertain how many 
they consist of, and compare them with the families of the ar- 
tisans and laborers in the next street. The poor have a much 
narrower range of enjoyments open to them than the rich ; the 
comforts of domestic life are about the only ones that are easily 
accessible to the lowly ; and who can wonder that these are 
early sought and highly prized ? 

This law respecting the relative increase of the several classes 
of the population is confirmed by the very fact, already men- 
tioned, which seems at first to point to a different conclusion. 
When a new country is colonized, the indigenous barbarous 
tribes waste away before the advancing wave of civilization 
like snow under a July sun ; and this is certainly a victory of 
the superior race over the inferior. But here, again, the issue 
is determined in the main by the comparative fecundity of the 



364 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

competitors, and is but little affected by the other advantages 
of corporeal organization, — by slight differences in muscle, 
joint, and limb, — on either side. The individual savage, as a 
general rule, has greater tenacity of life than his civilized rival ; 
his wants are fewer ; he is satisfied with little and poor food ; 
he can withstand greater hardships ; he can live in a desert 
where the white colonist would starve. But no matter ; he is 
less prolific, and therefore invariably goes down in the struggle. 
Even before they are invaded by a civilized race, barbarous 
tribes produce so few children who come to maturity, and are 
so wasted by petty wars and disease, that it is doubtful whether, 
in the long run, they ever increase in number. The North 
American Indians whom our forefathers found here on their 
first arrival were certainly inferior, both in numbers and in the 
mechanic arts, to the races which had preceded them. Wit- 
ness the structures reared by the mound-builders, and the im- 
plements found in them. The Colonists, on the other hand, are 
drafted chiefly from the working-classes, who are the more 
prolific even before they leave their old home ; and, in their 
new one, the cheapness of land and food, together with the 
scarcity of labor, causes them to multiply like rabbits. There 
is something almost marvellous in the rapid growth of the pop- 
ulation in the early times in New England. Farmers, fisher- 
men, and clergymen not infrequently seemed to vie with each 
other in the increasing size of their families. What wonder 
that the already dwindling tribes of the savages melted away 
before them ! 

When we extend our survey beyond the human race, we find 
the same law holds good for the whole animal and vegeta- 
ble kingdoms, that the relative increase of numbers is mainly 
determined by the comparative fecundity of the species, irre- 
spective of slight differences of external organization. The 
causes of success in the battle for life seem to be physiological, 
rather than morphological. Whether a given plant or animal 
shall be more or less prolific seems to depend, in main part, 
upon physiological processes internal to its constitution, and 
hardly at all upon the adaption of its external organs to its 
environment. Hence, as its chance of survivorship is not in- 
creased by any morphological improvement which may hap- 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 365 

pen to be induced upon it by casual variations, that improve- 
ment is useless in the struggle and must soon disappear. 

Always the lower forms, which are more prolific, tend to be 
perpetuated at the expense of the higher ones, which are com- 
paratively sterile. Hence, the most remarkable cases of fe- 
cundity are found very low down in the scale — among the 
insects, for instance, and among the fishes rather than the 
mammals. Thus it is that some of the lowest genera of vege- 
table and animal life have come down to us almost unchanged 
from the earlier geologic ages ; while a multitude of higher 
types, far more recent in their introduction, have already died 
out. 

This conclusion will appear still more probable in view of 
a fact which Mr. Darwin himself, with his usual admirable 
candor in setting forth all the circumstances which make 
against his theory, as well as those which tend to corroborate 
it, mentions, that in proportion as a species varies from its 
original type, it tends to become sterile. The cultivated races, 
which have been much changed by domestication, seem to be 
cursed with barrenness. " Sterility has been said to be the 
bane of our horticulture ; " and Mr. Darwin adds that, on his 
view, " we owe variability to the same cause which produces 
sterility ; and variability is the source of all the choicest pro- 
ductions of the garden." 

An experienced breeder of domestic animals, who wrote in 
1849, eleven years before Darwinism was invented, gives an 
amusing account of his endeavors to improve the breed of pigs. 
Beginning with, a poor brute of the native stock, a typical 
specimen of all that a well-bred pig ought not to be or to do, 
except that it regularly produced, twice a year, a litter of six- 
teen, eighteen, or even twenty little grunters — "reduplications 
of mamma" — he endeavored, by a process of judicious selec- 
tion and crossing, to develop a fatter and handsomer type. 
And he succeeded ; after not many years, the aristocratic ten- 
ants of his sties became miracles of fatness and models of 
symmetry. But alas ! when one attempts to improve upon 
nature's handiwork, " things will somehow go aglee," as the 
Scotch say. Now that his pigs were promoted into the upper 
classes of society, they seemed, like other aristocrats, to think 



366 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

that they had nothing to do but to eat, drink, and grunt ; 
they waxed fat and kicked against the old command to increase 
and multiply. The litters dwindled to six, four, and at length 
to one ; " and we are inclined to think that our experience was 
a sort of epitome of high breeding." For he declares that the 
same law holds good in respect to artificial breeds of cattle ; 
the marvellously "improved shorthorns" show an unmistaka- 
ble tendency to become sterile, and to revert into the mon- 
grels that were the elements out of which they were concocted. 
So far, then, as either the various species of vegetable or an- 
imal life, or the different classes of human society, come into 
competition with each other at all, the balance of their respec- 
tive numbers seems to be determined by the counteraction of 
two opposing forces ; namely, by their relative fecundity, and 
by any peculiarities of their organization and situation which 
enable them to contend successfully against superior numbers. 
Chief among these peculiarities is the comparatively abundant 
supply of their appropriate food ; slight morphological differ- 
ences of organization either do not come into play at all, or 
exert little influence on the result of the contest. Since each 
of these forces operates as a check on the other, there is no 
tendency to an extreme result in either direction ; neither of 
the competing races is pressed to utter extinction, or is capa- 
ble of multiplying beyond a definite limit. Take the family 
of pachyderms, for instance. On Darwinian principles, the 
elephant must be considered as a highly developed species of 
pig, and therefore as having competed in a struggle for exist- 
ence with its ancestral type during the immense interval of 
time which must have elapsed while the development was 
proceeding. But even now, when the superiority of organiza- 
tion is greater than ever, what chance has the higher animal, 
which produces only about six young in a century, of crowding 
out of existence the lower type, which multiplies from ten to 
twenty fold in the course of a single year ? Or, on the other 
hand, what likelihood is there that prolific piggy will eat up 
all the food, and thus finally starve out his gigantic antagonist, 
whose size and strength enable him easily to defend his own 
feeding-grounds and watering-places against all intruders ? 
Go back then, to the supposed beginning of the contest, and 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 367 

ask what advantage in it would be acquired by a particular 
class of pigs through, the very gradual elongation of their 
snouts, say, at the rate of half an inch in a century ; or how 
the long noses could have been perpetuated, on Darwinian 
principles, if they continued to be useless till they had nearly 
attained the length and flexibility of an elephant's trunk. 

A similar instance may be taken from the order of the 
quadrumana. The anthropoid apes are assumed to be highly 
developed species of monkeys ; but they certainly seem to have 
gained no advantage in the battle for life over their lower 
competitors through their superior organization, but rather to 
have lost ground in the struggle, since they are relatively so 
inferior in numbers that they appear to be in some clanger of 
extinction. Through being more prolific, less dainty in feed- 
ing, and abler to support changes of climate and other altered 
conditions of life, the monkeys evidently have the better chance 
of survival. But the higher apes certainly will not be crowded 
out of life merely by the greater numbers of those below them, 
since they are abundantly able to protect themselves against 
such encroachment. Here, again, the balance of opposing ten- 
dencies seems to keep the relative numbers in the competing 
species within definite limits, without permitting the complete 
triumph of either party. In many cases, the existence and the 
greater fecundity of the inferior races is a condition of the sur- 
vival of those above them, who are thus supplied with their 
necessary food. Thus, the carnivora of Central Africa are 
more developed and more tenacious of life than the herbivor- 
ous animals on which they prey ; the latter are thus prevented 
from multiplying unduly, though their entire extinction, of 
course, would be fatal even to their antagonists. In all these 
cases, and an indefinite number of others that might be cited, 
slight morphological differences, induced and perpetuated in 
the manner supposed by Mr. Darwin, would evidently be of 
no account whatever in determining the issue of the contest. 

Malthusianism, then, is as completely disproved in Biology 
as it previously had been in Political Economy ; and with it 
disappears all that is peculiar to Darwinism. There is no such 
Struggle for Existence as is supposed to be induced by the ten- 
dency of every species to an undue multiplication of its num.- 



368 MALTHUSIANISM, -DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

bers. No one species of form or life has any more reason to 
dread being killed out in such a contest, than we human beings 
have to fear being starved through the over-population of the 
earth. And, even if a battle of this sort were possible, victory 
in it would not depend on superiority of organization. The 
existence not of the lower races, but of the higher ones, would 
be- imperilled. We can foresee this result in our own case, 
whether we compare the different classes of human society 
with each other, or man himself, the order primates, with the 
inferior animals. In the grand " struggle," which will occur 
about the time of the Greek Kalends, the primitive stocks, 
such as Irish bog-trotters and Welsh peasants, would certainly 
"survive " the nobility and gentry, though the latter profit by 
the accumulated advantages of high breeding transmitted by 
direct inheritance through a pedigree extending back to Wil- 
liam the Conqueror. And, in the final stage of the conflict, 
even these original poor representatives of humanity must die 
out long before some of the animals far below them. Those 
pests of our summer, the insect tribes, would sing the requiem 
of man, and feast on his remains. Accordingly, the only orig- 
inal and distinctive feature of Darwinism — its attempt to 
explain away the argument from design for the being of a God 
by showing that the supposed adaptations of means to ends, 
and the admirable complex arrangements by which every por- 
tion of a living organism is fitted to do its proper work, may 
all be accounted for by the blind and unconscious action of 
mechanical principles and physical laws, without calling in 
anywhere a Divine purpose or a contriving Mind — must be 
regarded as a baseless hypothesis. A careful study of the 
successive development of the higher forms of life upon the 
earth does not invalidate, but fully confirms, the doctrine 
which has been held by every great thinker, from Socrates 
down to the present day, that no organism could have been 
produced without an organizing mind. 

The doctrine of the ascending successive development of the 
higher forms of life from the types immediately below them, 
each improved species first appearing in a germ transmitted 
from unimproved parents, far from constituting a portion of 
Darwinism properly so called, has been for centuries a favor- 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 369 

ite speculation, an accepted theory, taught by some of the 
greatest thinkers in theology and philosophy that the world 
has ever known. It is merely the doctrine of derivative crea- 
tion, or, in other words, of creation in the germ, to be sub- 
sequently developed after a longer or shorter interval. St. 
Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, and Malebranche inculcated 
this theory without offence to the Church : it was elaborately 
worked out and defended by Leibnitz, as an essential part of 
his system of Monadology ; and Charles Bonnet, a follower of 
Leibnitz, built upon this foundation his ingenious hypothesis 
of the emboitement of germs. Certainly, as Christian theists, 
holding fast our belief not only that every new species, but 
that each individual living organism, originated in a special act 
of creation, we have no quarrel with the doctrine of the suc- 
cessive evolution from ancestral germs of higher and higher 
forms of life and mind. The record of such evolution is only 
the story of God's providence and incessant creative action 
throughout the long roll of the geologic ages of this earth, and 
extending back, perhaps, to the successive generation of new 
planetary and stellar systems out of primitive chaos. Who 
shall tell us either when God's creation began, or when it was 
finished ? The sole innovation of Darwinism upon this doc- 
trine of evolution consisted in attempting to strip from it all 
proof of the incessant creative action of a designing mind, by 
reducing it to a blind mechanical process, necessarily resulting 
from inherent mudborn energies and productive power. And 
this attempt, resting solely upon the two unfounded assump- 
tions of a battle for life and of the necessary survival of the 
higher organisms over the lower ones in that contest, it has 
now been shown, must be regarded as an ignominious failure. 
Yet the very making of this attempt contributed much to the 
speedy and joyful acceptance of the Darwinian hypothesis in 
certain quarters. It was the pepper which made the dish pal- 
atable to Huxley, Haeckel & Co., — that is, to those English 
and German naturalists whose previous bias in favor of mate- 
rialism and fatalism indisposed them to recognize anywhere 
any proofs of the being of a God. 

But we have not yet witnessed the last or the worst con- 
sequences of the Malthusian theory of Over-Population. After 

24 



370 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

inducing economical science to regard with hard-hearted indif- 
ference the misery of the poor, and to teach positive cruelty as 
the only means of diminishing the amount of their suffering, 
and after instructing Biology to deny the validity of the prin- 
cipal argument for the being of a God, we have still to con- 
sider the results of the adoption of this ill-omened hypothesis 
into what may well be called the Philosophy of Despair. The 
atheists of Germany, where alone the infidel doctrine is openly 
avowed and systematically taught in all its appalling conse- 
quences, have at last convinced themselves that Atheism leads 
by necessary inference to Pessimism. In their own sad expe- 
rience and their reasoned reflections upon life, they have been 
compelled to acknowledge the fidelity of the picture which 
Jean Paul (Richter) presented only as an appalling " dream " 
— that of a world without a God. A miserable world they 
find it to be, destitute alike of happiness, dignity, or hope ; and 
they passionately declare that man's life in it is merely a con- 
fused noise between two silences, and is not only not worth 
living, but is an intolerable burden, so that the sooner it can 
be shaken off the better. An orphan universe, dust-born, gen- 
erated and controlled only by the pitiless action of blind me- 
chanical forces, allowing no sense of responsibility and no 
sanction for morality, void of any belief in the fatherhood of 
God or in the brotherhood of man, is a source only of misery 
and despair, and the best course for the conscious beings now 
doomed to inhabit it is to lead it to speedy painless extinction. 
It is overpeopled so far as it is peopled at all. Apply " the 
preventive check " of Malthus, therefore, in its full extent and 
with the utmost rigor. Let man cease to propagate his kind. 
We have no right to inflict the misery of existence upon a 
future generation, who have not been asked whether they 
were willing to endure the burden, and who, as they are not 
yet in being, certainly cannot suffer wrong in not being called 
into existence, even if they should be foolish enough hereafter 
to regard their life as a blessing rather than a curse. The sui- 
cide of individuals is faintly condemned, not on the ground of 
its being in itself an immoral act, but because it would be par- 
tial and limited in its consequences, not accomplishing soon 
enough, if at all, the great purpose of bringing the whole 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 371 

world to an end through an act of cosmic suicide. It would 
be awkward, it is true, openly to counsel self-murder, since 
those who gave such advice might be called upon to act con- 
sistently with their principles ; and they confess the difficulty 
of ridding themselves altogether of a hankering after life, and 
a fear to go down into the dark. Better allow the human race 
to die out quietly, as it would do were there no more births. 
Schopenhauer does not take so lenient a view of the case, for 
he coarsely says, " The truth is, men ought to be miserable, 
and they are so ; " for they have committed the unpardonable 
crime of being born. 

These are not merely the morbid fancies of a few misan- 
thropes and eccentric thinkers, intent only upon startling the 
world with their paradoxes. If they were so, it would be idle 
to call attention to them here, and to give them the notoriety 
which they covet. An isolated poet here or there, like Byron 
or Leopardi, can do little harm with his pessimistic imagin- 
ings ; as in Dante's case, we can pardon some bad philosophy 
for much good poetry ; and we listen with only a silent protest 
to the ringing lines of the noble Englishman, not fearing that 
any one will be made a convert by them : — 

" Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, 
Count o'er thy days from anguish free, 
And know, whatever thou hast been, 
'T is something better not to be." 

But these German atheists and pessimists have multiplied 
till they have become a sect formidable alike from their num- 
bers, their ability, the fanatical zeal and persistency with 
which they preach their doctrines, and the extent to which 
they are already influencing opinion and conduct, not only in 
their own land, but in neighboring countries. The popularity 
of their writings indicates a peril with which civilization itself 
is menaced, through the corruption and recklessness of those 
who should be its safeguards — the upper classes of society. 
Of course, their theory is not directly upheld or advocated in 
any seminary of learning which is under the immediate con- 
trol of the government, but is zealously controverted, I be- 
lieve, by all the official teachers of philosophy. Outside of 
the universities, however, it has become as prevalent and as 



372 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

popular as Hegelianism was forty years ago. It has em- 
boldened the anarchists, and made the men who are avowedly 
endeavoring to subvert all the institutions of society more dar- 
ing and reckless than ever. The most dangerous of all heresies 
is that which inculcates a contemptuous disregard of human 
life, since he who does not value his own safety will be most 
prompt and fearless in attacking the safety of others. Society 
can protect itself against the secret assassin, who has still some 
fear left of the scaffold and the axe as the punishment of his 
crime. Neither has it much reason to fear homicidal in- 
sanity, since madmen cannot act in concert with each other, 
and an individual is easily overpowered and disarmed. But 
educated men, who have come to regard their own lives as 
only a burden to them, though they have been driven to de- 
spair, not by the privations and miseries which afflict the 
hopelessly poor, but by an insensate theory which teaches 
them to consider the existence of the human race itself as an 
intolerable evil, that can be abated most effectually by re- 
ducing society to anarchy and ruin, and who have prepared 
themselves for the admission of this theory by getting rid of 
all the restraints of morality and religion — these are foes 
truly formidable, against whom all the precautions and means 
of defence which governments can institute seem to be of little 
avail. This is the real ground of the terror recently inspired 
by the Nihilists in Russia, and by the leaders of what is called 
" the social democracy " in Germany. These men have made 
themselves hostes humani generis. In the former case, the 
numerous adherents of the sect appear to be drawn exclusively 
from the upper classes of society, the populace being not only 
not with them, but against them, since the lower ranks believe 
both in religion and the Czar. In Germany, where infidel 
opinions have filtrated lower down through the strata of so- 
ciety, the laboring class have joined to some extent in the 
movement ; but the leadership of the party, both in theory 
and action, seems to be entirely in the hands of reckless, 
educated men. These are the persons who recently attempted 
to assassinate both the Emperor William and the Czar, and it 
is against them that the energetic proceedings of the Govern- 
ment in both cases have been directed. In each instance, the 



MALTHUSIANISM, DAKWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 373 

assassin seems to have attempted murder chiefly as a means of 
committing suicide, but with some hope also, through the tur- 
moil and possible anarchy thus produced, to have accomplished 
something toward bringing the universe itself nearer to its 
termination. 

This lamentable state of things in respect to the opinions 
and the conduct of those who should be the better classes of 
society is not without a parallel at an earlier stage of the 
world's history. We find a near approximation to it, if not its 
perfect counterpart, in the character and behavior of the Ro- 
man patriciate under the Empire ; and a striking portraiture of 
its leading features might be drawn from the gloomy writings 
of Tacitus, Juvenal, and Suetonius. Most of the Emperors 
were bad enough, but they were no worse than the classes 
whence the Emperors were drawn, the patricians, the senators, 
and the high officers of the army and the administration. The 
old polytheistic religion had died out with these men, and a 
new system of faith had not yet found access to their minds. 
They had ceased to believe in anything except a debased form 
of Epicureanism and the fatalism of the Stoics, which pointed 
directly to suicide whenever the means of sensual pleasure 
were exhausted. They were not cowardly or feeble in charac- 
ter, or uninstructed ; they had all the refinement and culture 
which belonged to their age, possessing either immediately, or 
by direct inheritance, the brilliant accomplishments, the learn- 
ing, literature, and art of the Augustan period. They were 
not void of ambition and energy, since the only things which, 
in their eyes, still gave any zest to life were wealth, pomp, and 
power. They played for high stakes in any desperate project 
for amassing these prizes ; and if the game turned against 
them, and a brief intimation of the Emperor's will arrived, 
they assembled their friends for a final joyous banquet, and 
then cheerfully swallowed poison or opened their veins in a 
bath. Life's poor play was over, and they deemed themselves 
well rid of it. As they were men of utterly profligate lives, 
and there was almost a general license of divorce, they had no 
family attachments ; either they did not marry at all, or they 
took good care not to cumber themselves with children. Ju- 
venal indignantly reproaches them for the means employed to 
this end. 



374 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

" Sed jacet aurato vix ulla puerpera lecto, 
Tantum artes hujus, tantum tnedicamina possunt." 

For those who had great wealth, the surest mode of increasing 
their power and influence was to remain childless, and to hold 
out hopes to legacy-hunters and those who sought to become 
their adopted heirs ; thus they surrounded themselves with a 
stronger crew of adherents and dependents. Even the Em- 
perors, most of whom were childless, endeavored in this way 
to fortify their hold upon power ; and the adopted Caesar, by 
taking immediately an active share in the government, was 
allowed to taste by anticipation the joys of being the absolute 
master of the civilized world. The wiser heads among them, 
Augustus and Trajan, saw the extent of the evil ; they per- 
ceived that the interests of civilization were at stake, and that 
the state was in peril through the rapid dying out of the very 
classes which should have been its ornament and defence. 
They endeavored to apply a remedy, by multiplying laws in 
favor of marriage, and offering bounties and privileges to the 
beads of families containing children. The jus trium libero- 
rum, by which the parent having at least three children was 
freed from all personal charges, was but one of a large number 
of enactments having the same end in view. But the plague 
had spread too far and struck too deep to be arrested by any 
process of legislation. The upper classes of society continued 
to dwindle away and vanish from the stage, as if not only 
their morals and their civilization, but their very blood, had 
become corrupt ; and Rome at last fell because there were no 
longer any proper Romans left to defend her against barbarian 
inroads. 

German Pessimism, as a system of philosophy, is of very re- 
cent origin, though it has been rapidly developed into a com- 
plete theory of metaphysics, aesthetics, and ethics, and is al- 
ready practically applied as a body of principles to the regula- 
tion of the thoughts and the conduct of man. It is not older 
than Schopenhauer's principal work, " The World as Will and 
Presentation," which was nominally published in 1818, though 
it hardly became known or exerted any appreciable influence 
before about 1850. Since that date, the discussion of the 
subject has been active, and the doctrine has rapidly gained 



MALTHUSIANISM, DAEWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 375 

ground, its adherents constituting a numerous and zealous sect, 
so that the literature devoted to it is already of considerable 
dimensions. Besides Edward von Hartmann, who in learning 
and ability has certainly the chief place among them, and in 
popularity and influence is not second to any of his philo- 
sophical contemporaries, a host of others have published works 
of more or less note in exposition and defence of the system. 
Among them may be mentioned Frauenstadt, Bahnsen, Tau- 
bert, Mainlander, Venetianer, and Du Prel. The two works 
bearing immediately upon that portion of the subject with 
which we are here specially concerned are, first, Philip Main- 
lander's " Philosophy of Redemption," a thick octavo, written 
with much literary skill and a fervid eloquence, which was 
published at Berlin in 1876, and, secondly, Von Hartmann's 
" Phenomenology of the Moral Consciousness," a very elaborate 
work, which first appeared in the same city only at the begin- 
ning of the present year (1880). Each of these books particu- 
larly considers the duty and the means of effecting what they 
call " the salvation of the world " — that is, of redeeming the 
universe from the burden of its miserable existence. 

There is a wide difference of opinion among the doctors of 
Pessimism in respect to the course of action to be pursued, 
and the conduct which is to be enjoined upon their disciples. 
While they are all agreed as to the end in view, as to the ex- 
pediency and the duty of bringing the world to an end as soon 
as possible, they differ in respect to the means to be employed, 
and the practicability of effecting their purpose at an earlier 
or a later day. None of them directly and openly counsel 
suicide, as it would be inconvenient for them to be called upon 
to " reck their own rede," and as the advice at best would be 
followed only by the proselytes of the sect. As yet, these are 
to be found only among the educated classes in Russia and 
Germany, and their disappearance from the stage would stop 
the dissemination of their principles, while the rest of man- 
kind would then multiply all the faster. Only Schopenhauer, 
whose suspicious and gloomy temperament made him famil- 
iar with the darkest possible aspects of life, indirectly favors 
self-murder, by advising men no longer to have any volitions 
whatsoever, and thereby, through mere passivity and inani- 



376 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

tion, to fall back into the comparatively happy realm of noth- 
ingness whence they came. Hartmann justly objects, that this 
amounts to a recommendation of the most painful form of 
death, by voluntary starvation, and would merely induce those 
who as yet are not converted to Pessimism to increase in num- 
ber more rapidly than ever, in order to fill the opening thus 
created. The disappearance of the enlightened few would 
thus tend to a permanent deterioration of the race, though not 
to its annihilation, nor to a permanent diminution of its num- 
bers ; since the indolent, the reckless, and the base would soon 
occupy the ground which better men had foolishly abandoned. 

The bitter spirit in which Mainlander writes is well in- 
dicated in a quotation which he makes from the posthumous 
memoirs of Alexander von Humboldt. " I was not born," 
says Humboldt, " in order to be the father of a family. More- 
over, I regard marriage as a sin, and the propagation of chil- 
dren as a crime. It is my conviction also that he is a fool, 
and still more a sinner, who takes upon himself the yoke of 
marriage — a fool, because he thereby throws away his free- 
dom, without gaining a corresponding recompense ; a sinner, 
because he gives life to children, without being able to give 
them the certainty of happiness. I despise humanity in all its 
strata. I foresee that our posterity will be far more unhappy 
than we are ; and should not I be a sinner, if, in spite of this 
insight, I should take care to leave a posterity of unhappy be- 
ings behind me ? The whole of life is the greatest insanity. 
And if for eighty years one strives and inquires, still one is 
obliged finally to confess that he has striven for nothing and 
has found out nothing. Did we at least only know why we 
are in this world ! But to the thinker, everything is and re- 
mains a riddle ; and the greatest good luck is that of being 
born a flathead." 

And to arrive at this conviction, we should add, is the 
natural consequence, even for the largest intellect, of having 
lived for eighty years in the world without any belief in the 
being of a God, and without any nobler purpose than that of 
self-aggrandizement. What Mainlander immediately adds to 
this extract, though intended as a eulogy, is in truth a bitter 
satire upon Humboldt's words and his conduct : " ' Did we at 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 377 

least only know why we are in this world ! ' Then, in the 
whole rich life of this highly endowed man, there was nothing, 
absolutely nothing, which he could have apprehended as the 
ultimate end and aim of life. Not the joy of creating ; not the 
priceless steps of genius advancing in knowledge ; absolutely 
nothing." 

Very true ! Without any consciousness of a higher purpose 
as our being's end and aim than the mere gratification of 
curiosity, though this be dignified with the sounding name of 
" the advancement of knowledge," life would be destitute of 
either dignity, grace, or importance. It would not be worth 
living. 

In fact, this quotation from Humboldt contains the gist of 
Mainlancler's whole Philosophy of Salvation. He has but one 
lesson to teach, and but one duty to inculcate : it is that of 
celibacy and perfect chastity. In his preface, he boasts that 
he has not allowed atheism any longer, like religion, to rest 
upon a foundation of faith, but that its truth has been by him 
for the first time scientifically demonstrated. In his view of 
coming death, therefore, the wise man will no longer be 
troubled by any apprehension of a hereafter. Undisturbed by 
the thought either of a heaven or a hell, he will welcome the 
death-stroke as his introduction to a haven of rest, as the end 
of a life which has been only a prolongation of turmoil, labor, 
suffering, and anxiety. Nothing could sadden his last moments 
of consciousness, except the reflection that he was to live again 
in his children ; that, in order to procure for himself a brief en- 
joyment, he had inflicted upon others the burden of an in- 
tolerable life, and thereby, in so far, had prolonged the suffer- 
ings of the universe. 

On the other hand, Hartmann earnestly protests against 
following such advice, on the ground that it would only in- 
tensify the action of causes already at work by which the 
highest interests of civilization are imperilled. His philosophy, 
like that of Hegel, prides itself on the reconciliation of con- 
tradictory principles, and is probably indebted to this its 
Janus-faced aspect for much of its present popularity. Thus 
he is an Optimist, because he holds, like Leibnitz, that this is 
the best possible universe ; but he is also a Pessimist, on the 



378 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

ground that the best is bad enough, and the present universe 
is so bad that it would be far better if it did not exist at all. 
In eyery respect, non-being is preferable to being, for it is in- 
capable of the suffering which is inseparable from the very 
nature of existence. The only question left concerns the 
proper choice of means for bringing the world to a speedy and 
effectual termination ; and Hartmann maintains that, far from 
checking the growth of the population, the best course is to 
increase and multiply as fast as possible. In proportion as the 
human race becomes more numerous, the Struggle for Exist- 
ence will be fiercer and more desperate, the misery so pro- 
duced will be greater, and the combatants will be the sooner 
reconciled to the idea of giving up the fruitless contest alto- 
gether, and sinking back into the comparatively blissful repose 
of nothingness. Our duty, then, is not only to favor the 
growth of population, but in every way to promote the prog- 
ress of enlightenment and the spread of civilization. Man- 
kind must be educated up to Pessimism ; all classes, all tribes 
and nations, must become convinced of the folly and misery of 
existence, before a concerted and vigorous effort can be made 
to get rid of the burden altogether. Meanwhile, not by a 
cowardly and selfish withdrawal from the conflict, as Schopen- 
hauer and Mainlander recommend, leaving the ignorant multi- 
tude behind, deprived of their leaders and teachers, to multiply 
and suffer more than ever, but by entering heartily into the 
battle for life, bearing its sorrows and teaching others to bear 
them, may we hope to promote the final redemption of man- 
kind from the woes which now afflict them. 

Three illusions must be entirely overcome, according to 
Hartmann, before this consummation can be reached. The 
first consists in supposing that positive happiness is attainable 
by individuals in this life, at the present stage of development 
of the world's history ; and he argues at great length that this 
doctrine is confuted by experience. The second illusion is the 
belief that such happiness may be acquired hereafter, in a 
transcendent and immortal life beyond the grave ; and this 
belief is rejected, of course, as it conflicts at every point with 
the tenets of Pessimism. The third stage of the illusion is 
that dream of the future perfectibility of the human race in 



MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 379 

which Condorcet and Godwin indulged, which is to be realized 
when the Philosophical Radicals shall have so far reformed 
all laws and political institutions as to establish upon this earth 
the perfect reign of liberty, equality, and fraternity ; to have 
finally dissipated this dream, as we have seen, is the glory of 
Malthusianism. Aid, then, in every way the advancement 
and diffusion of knowledge ; for " he that increases knowledge 
increases sorrow," and men will thus the sooner outgrow these 
three forms of illusion. Favor the increase of numbers also, 
as civilization will thus be more rapidly diffused over all lands, 
and the evils caused by Over-Population will tend more and 
more to convince mankind of the misery of existence and the 
expediency of bringing the universe to an end. Positive hap- 
piness is unattainable ; but negative happiness, the painless- 
ness of non-existence, is a goal within our reach. There will 
be at least a rest from sorrow in the grave of all things. 

If the advice of Mainlander were followed, Hartmann ar- 
gues, the only consequence would be to degrade and brutalize 
humanity, to give ignorance, feebleness, and stupidity the vic- 
tory over intellect and character, and to make the world more 
populous than ever with a debased type of inhabitants. Un- 
happily, many causes are even now at work to bring about 
this very undesirable issue. The tendency, already noticed, 
of the educated classes to die out altogether, while those far 
below them in the scale are multiplying with ominous rapid- 
ity, is the plague-spot of our modern civilization. I have 
pointed out its deplorable results in the case of the Roman 
Empire ; and the speedy decline and corruption, after the age 
of Demosthenes, of Athenian culture and refinement, are prob- 
ably attributable, in a considerable degree, to the action of the 
same cause. It is the inherent vice of an aristocracy of wealth 
and intellect, who are intent upon nothing so much as the 
adoption of any efficient means for preserving the superiority 
of their class above the vulgar. But it is a suicidal policy ; 
for, while it has a deceptive semblance of strengthening the 
position and influence of individual families, through prevent- 
ing these advantages from being parcelled out among too many 
heirs, it is destructive of the best interests of the class as a 
whole, and must soon lead to its entire extinction. Civiliza- 



380 MALTHUSIANISM, DARWINISM, AND PESSIMISM. 

tion cannot be kept alive and transmitted undiminished to 
posterity, if the members of the educated classes think it a 
burden to have large families, and if even the women prefer 
to find some other vocation in life than that of bearing chil- 
dren and educating them. If a process of what the Darwin- 
ites would call " negative selection " is to go on, if only the 
creatures of a lower type are freely to propagate their kind, 
the average level of the species must be lowered, and a general 
deterioration of society is inevitable. Persons of wealth, cult- 
ure, and refinement, instead of adopting the selfish policy of 
Mainlander, and taking care only for their personal redemption 
from the ills of life, should seek rather to transmit by inher- 
itance their high qualities of mind and character to a future 
generation, and teach their children how to use these personal 
advantages in continuous efforts to promote the civilization 
and ennoble the type of humanity. If they do not fill the 
vacant places on the earth's surface, these will soon be occupied 
by the progeny of the ignorant and the debased, who, in this 
respect, are the dangerous classes of society. 



BLAISE PASCAL. 

FROM THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW FOR APRIL, 1845. 

Great precocity of genius, however developed or employed, 
seldom fails to excite at least as much alarm and pity as ad- 
miration in the judicious spectator. If not in itself a token 
of disease already formed, and working as a stimulus on the 
brain, it is sure to lead quickly to some morbid action of the 
physical frame, and ere long to dry up the fountains of life. 
It seems as if only a given amount of work can be done. If 
more is accomplished at an early period, a shorter term of life 
remains for further achievements. Hence a note of lamenta- 
tion, a mournful presentiment, always mingles with the ad- 
miring applause which greets every new and wonderful effort 
of a youthful prodigy. We mourn that this early excellence 
should be purchased at so high a price, — that premature 
strength and beauty of mind should be doomed to premature 
decay. 

Blaise Pascal, the boy Euclid, the contemporary and peer of 
Torricelli, Huygens, and Descartes, the scourge of the Jesuits, 
the boast of the Port Royal school of theologians and philoso- 
phers, the earliest writer of correct and elegant French prose, 
the master in eloquence of Bossuet, and the object of the un- 
willing homage even of Voltaire, died at the age of thirty- 
nine. All his important writings, except the " Thoughts," 
which was a posthumous publication, appeared several years 
before his death ; and his most valuable contributions to sci- 
ence were made before he was thirty. As a boy, he seemed 
miraculously endowed, and the abundant promise of his youth 
was fully sustained by the rich fruit of his early manhood. 
Bodily weakness and suffering, to which he was a lifelong 
martyr, far from impairing, seemed only to heighten the pre- 
ternatural acuteness and strength of his intellect, as a hectic 



382 BLAISE PASCAL. 

flush improves the beauty and expressiveness of the features. 
All that he accomplished in science and philosophy, great as 
was its intrinsic value, only leaves the impression that he had 
much in reserve. His discoveries and inventions are rather the 
indications, than the full fruits, of the vigor and comprehen- 
siveness of his genius. They showed what he might have 
done, if his ambition had been greater, or if it had not been 
so early checked and turned into a different channel by relig- 
ious enthusiasm. 

No full and satisfactory account of his life and works has 
ever appeared. There are eulogies upon him in plenty, but 
they give only a meagre and fragmentary view of his labors, 
and supply few materials for a complete portrait of his char- 
acter and genius. The memoir of him by his sister, Madame 
Perier, who shared the fervor of his religious feelings, is short, 
and gives us little more than a record of his bodily sufferings, 
and illustrations of the remarkable purity, generosity, severity 
of principle, and self-devotion, which characterized his whole 
life. Later authors among his countrymen, though they have 
added but few facts to his biography, have done full justice to 
his scientific merits, have celebrated his wit, his acuteness, 
and his eloquence, and have paid a willing tribute of admira- 
tion to the unequalled vigor, terseness, and purity of his style. 
The best of these later accounts is by Sainte-Beuve, in his 
elaborate history of Port Royal. 

Blaise Pascal was born in the summer of 1623, at Cler- 
mont, the capital of the Province of Auvergne, in France. 
His father, Etienne Pascal, who had himself attained consid- 
erable reputation as a man of science and letters, superin- 
tended the education of his only son with rare devotion and 
judgment. That he might obtain greater facilities for instruc- 
tion, he gave up the office which he had held at Clermont, 
and came to reside in Paris, when Blaise was but eight years 
old. As the mother had died five years before, the boy was 
entirely dependent on paternal aid, and the signs which he 
had already given of extraordinary natural endowments were 
enough to determine the father not to enter him at any col- 
lege, but to take the whole task of his education on himself. 
So precious, though so frail, a gift of Providence, the delicacy 



BLAISE PASCAL. 383 

of his bodily constitution being already apparent, was not 
lightly to be intrusted to the hands of strangers. The inten- 
tion of the elder Pascal was, that his son should study only 
the languages during his tender years, with a view to cultivate 
the memory and the taste, while the more manly and exacting 
pursuits of mathematical and physical science were to be the 
employment of his early manhood. This wise scheme was 
frustrated by circumstances and the precocity of the child's 
genius. 

The elder Pascal belonged to a small association of scientific 
men, among whom were Mersenne, Roberval, Le Pailleur, 
and Carcavi, who came together occasionally, in an informal 
way, to discuss new inventions and discoveries, and who kept 
up a correspondence with persons in the provinces and in for- 
eign countries, who were interested in the same pursuits. 
They met in turn at the houses of the several members, and 
were united as much by personal regard as by the similarity 
of their tastes and occupations. The Academy of Sciences, 
which was established in 1666, was formed out of this society. 
Young Pascal was usually present at the meetings when they 
were held at his father's house, and the conversations which 
he heard probably stimulated his curiosity the more from the 
very fact that he was not allowed to study the subjects of the 
debate in books. When he was but twelve years old, his sis- 
ter tells us, he wrote a short treatise upon sounds. He was 
eager to know the nature of geometr}^, of which he had often 
heard the associates speak. His father told him generally, 
that it related to the measurement of bodies, and showed how 
to construct figures with accuracy, and to ascertain their rela- 
tions to each other. More information was refused ; but a 
promise was given, that he should study the subject after he 
had learned enough Latin and Greek. The importunate curi- 
osity of the boy could not tolerate this delay. During his leis- 
ure hours, he shut himself up in a chamber, and with a piece 
of charcoal traced figures upon the floor, such as parallelo- 
grams, triangles, and circles, seeking to find their relative di- 
mensions. He knew not even the names of these figures, but 
called a circle a round, and a line a bar. Definitions and 
axioms he framed to suit himself, and in this way proceeded 



384 BLAISE PASCAL. 

by degrees, as we are told, till he came to a knowledge of the 
thirty-second proposition of Euclid, that the three angles of a 
triangle are equal to two right angles. While thus engaged, 
he w r as one day surprised by his father, who was naturally 
amazed at the progress made under such circumstances, and 
ran immediately to communicate the fact to his intimate 
friend, Le Pailleur. After this discovery, no further restraint 
was put upon the boy's genius. Euclid's " Elements " were 
given to him, and he read the book by himself, without ask- 
ing any aid, before he was thirteen years old. 

This account is given by the elder sister, who was in the 
family at the time, and must have known the facts ; and as 
her character does not allow her veracity to be questioned, 
there seems no room to doubt its substantial accuracy. It was 
published, also, when some of the associates of the elder Pas- 
cal were still alive, who could have refuted any misstatement. 
Yet the story seems so marvellous, that many have considered 
it a mere fable. The only part of the statement that is really 
incredible, however, is the explanation of the process, or 
method, by which the boy arrived at such astonishing results. 
The order in which geometry is taught in the books is surely 
the very reverse of that in which the great truths of this sci- 
ence were first discovered. Instead of beginning with axioms 
and definitions, and advancing through the more simple prop- 
ositions to the more complex, the process must have begun 
with the discovery, either by accident or measurement, of 
some advanced theorem, and, in seeking to demonstrate this, 
subsidiary truths came to light as the media of proof. Py- 
thagoras certainly was acquainted with the famous proposition 
about the square of the hypothenuse, before he was able to 
demonstrate it. Euclid teaches the elements synthetically; 
he discovered them by analysis. Now, if we suppose that 
Pascal, in the scientific meetings at his father's house, had 
overheard mention of the fact that the three angles of a tri- 
angle are equal to two right angles, and endeavored to dis- 
cover the proof of this theorem, the story ceases to be incredi- 
ble, or even very remarkable. If we consider the astonishing 
acuteness and vigor of his mind, as subsequently displayed in 
other ways, it seems quite probable, that he succeeded in in- 



BLAISE PASCAL. 385 

scribing a triangle in a circle, and in ascertaining that an an- 
gle at the centre is twice as great as one at the circumference 
standing upon the same arc', whence the passage to the truth 
he was seeking to demonstrate is obvious. He may have 
found out more or less than this ; the account on which we 
rely being quite indefinite as to the particulars of his achieve- 
ment. The only thing really marvellous about it is, that a 
boy twelve years of age, without advice or instigation, should 
have troubled himself at all about the matter. 

But the progress of his studies was now interrupted by do- 
mestic misfortunes. His father incurred the resentment of 
Richelieu, by offering some opposition to an arbitrary plan for 
cutting short the income attached to the H6tel de Ville. An 
order was made out for committing him to the Bastille ; but 
obtaining seasonable notice of it, he fled from Paris, and con- 
cealed himself in his native province of Auvergne. A singu- 
lar circumstance aided the talents and filial piety of his chil- 
dren, to which he was at last indebted for restoration from 
this exile. The Cardinal, it is well known, had a passion for 
dramatic performances, and even wrote a play himself, which 
was quite bad enough to be worthy of a prime-minister. He 
took a fancy about this time, that a tragi-comedy by Scude"ri, 
called " L' Amour Tyrannique," should be represented in his 
presence by a party of young girls. The Duchess d'Aiguillon, 
who had charge of the affair, selected Jacqueline Pascal, then 
about thirteen years old, the younger sister of Blaise, to be 
one of the performers. The representation took place on the 
3d of April, 1639. Jacqueline acted her part like a little 
fairy, and her grace and spirit quite captivated the spectators, 
and excited all the good feelings of Richelieu. It had been 
arranged, that the little actress should approach the minister 
at the close of the piece, and recite some verses pleading for 
the restoration of her father. She did so with a degree of sim- 
plicity and earnestness that delighted the Cardinal, who em- 
braced her as soon as she had finished, and exclaimed, " Yes, 
my child, I grant all that you ask for ; write to your father, 
that he may immediately return with safety." 

The elder Pascal returned to Paris, and was received with 
great kindness by Richelieu, who soon afterwards appointed 

25 



386 BLAISE PASCAL. 

him to an honorable and lucrative office in the government of 
Rouen. He removed his family to that city, and the numer- 
ous accounts and calculations that were necessary in his official 
business were confided to his son. Weary of the prolix and 
monotonous processes of arithmetic, the young man endeav- 
ored to invent some mechanical means of executing the work. 
After two years of intense application, he produced the cele- 
brated arithmetical machine which bears his name. It was a 
marvellous effort for a boy of nineteen. Leibnitz speaks of it 
with admiration, and made some attempts to improve it ; and 
in our own day, the magnificent project of Mr. Babbage, 
which seems fated never to be anything more than a project, 
is a mere revival and amplification of the ingenious contriv- 
ance of the young Frenchman. The complexity of the work 
prevents us from giving a detailed description of it. It is 
enough to say, that it executes all the lower processes of arith- 
metic with quickness and certainty, and performs some of the 
more complex and difficult operations. The arithmetical tri- 
angle, invented by Pascal in 1654, is a natural complement to 
this machine. It gives the coefficients of a binomial raised to 
any power denoted by an integer, so that it is in part an antic- 
ipation of Newton's beautiful theorem. It was applied, also, 
to the theories of combinations and probabilities, facilitating 
the calculations in each, and indicating certain results in them 
not before known. 

Pascal was proud of these inventions, and with good reason, 
considering their fertility and the originality of the ideas on 
which they rest. He says, that the operation of his machine 
resembles, far more than the instinct of animals, the workings 
of the human intellect. In 1650, he sent one of the instru- 
ments to Queen Christina of Sweden, with a letter which is a 
perfect masterpiece of tact and delicacy in complimentary ad- 
dress, and shows that the writer was not more a man of sci- 
ence than an accomplished French gentleman. But the cost 
of the machine, and its liability to get out of repair, prevented 
it from coming into extensive use ; and the invention of log- 
arithms renders all contrivances of this class in a great degree 
unnecessary. In speaking of the mechanical skill of Pascal, 
his biographers uniformly attribute to him the invention of 



BLAISE PASCAL. 387 

the wheel sedan-chair and the truck, though it is difficult to 
believe that these simple instruments were not in use long be- 
fore his time. He probably made some marked improvements 
in the common mode of constructing them. 

It would be tedious to dwell upon the history of Pascal's 
discoveries in mathematical science. They were conspicuous 
and important enough to attract the attention and envy of 
Descartes, who seemed to arrogate to himself at this period 
the whole province of pure mathematics as his particular do- 
main. The researches upon the theory of the cycloid, inferior 
as they are to the results since obtained so easily by the use of 
the infinitesimal calculus, must be regarded as almost miracu- 
lous achievements of the geometry of Pascal's time. The cal- 
culation of chances, various problems in which are so complex 
and far-reaching as to tax the utmost resources of the im- 
proved science of our own day, owes its earliest development, 
and the establishment of some of its most important princi- 
ples, to the genius of this youthful mathematician. Huygens, 
to whom the praise of originating the true theory of games of 
chance is sometimes awarded, frankly avows, in the preface to 
his work on this subject, that the invention does not belong to 
him, as " all these questions have already been discussed by 
the greatest geometers of France." In truth, the work of 
Huygens appeared in 1657, while the solutions of Pascal were 
well known in 1654, when he was but thirty-one years of age. 
The subject was proposed to him by a celebrated gamester, 
who wished to know in what proportions the stake should be 
divided between two players, if they agreed to separate with- 
out finishing the game. Pascal solved the problem in its most 
general form, so as to divide the sum equitably among any 
number of players who might be engaged. Roberval and 
Fermat, two of the most distinguished mathematicians in 
France, attempted to answer these questions at the same time ; 
the former failed entirely ; the latter succeeded by applying 
the theory of combinations. Pascal, who had solved the prob- 
lem by another method, believed at first that the solution by 
Fermat was not correct, although the result agreed with his 
own ; but on further examination he retracted this opinion, 
and acknowledged that the process was equally accurate and 
elegant. 



388 BLAISE PASCAL. 

Passing over Pascal's other mathematical labors, though 
many of them are of considerable note, we come to his con- 
tributions to physical science, which afford still more remark- 
able proofs of the premature vigor of his intellect. His cele- 
brated experiments upon the weight of the atmosphere put 
the seal of demonstration upon one of the greatest discoveries 
of modern times. Torricelli suspected that the ascent of 
water in a common pump, which had hitherto been attributed 
to nature's repugnance to a vacuum, was really due to the 
weight of a column of air, which balanced the column of fluid. 
Mercury is about thirteen times heavier than water, and 
thirty inches is about the thirteenth part of thirty-three feet. 
In other words, the power which supported the two fluids, 
whatever it might be, was* constant in respect to weight, since 
the elevation of the two fluids was inversely proportional to 
their weight. Torricelli believed that this power was the 
pressure of the air, or that a column of air as high as the 
earth's atmosphere was as heavy as thirty inches of mercury, 
or as thirty-three feet of water. But he could not prove this ; 
his supposition, it is true, explained the facts ; but it did not 
exclude other hypotheses which might be framed to account 
for the same phenomena. 

The experiment of Torricelli, which was, in truth, the in- 
vention of the barometer, was made in 1645. Its result had 
been predicted by Descartes ; but the explanation offered by 
both these philosophers had at first but small success among 
the learned. The doctrine of the repugnance of nature to a 
vacuum had been too long established to give way readily to a 
truth which was not as yet demonstrated. The supposition 
was gravely made, that some subtile matter, or ether, evapo- 
rated from the surface of the water or the mercury, and filled 
the apparent void in the top of the tube. Pascal at once 
adopted the views of Torricelli and Descartes, and repeated 
the experiments of the former in 1646, with some variations, 
which still further discredited the old doctrine. He used 
tubes of great length, and thus proved that nature did not 
dread a great vacuum any more than a small one. He era- 
ployed a tube bent in the form of the letter U, and having in- 
vented an apparatus for admitting at intervals small quantities 



BLAISE PASCAL. 389 

of air into the top of one of the branches, he found that the 
mercury descended there just as fast as the air was admitted, 
while it remained stationary in the other branch. The results 
of these experiments, and the arguments founded upon them, 
he published in 1647, in a little book entitled " New Experi- 
ments respecting a Vacuum." 

But Pascal saw with pain, that not one of the tests or argu- 
ments hitherto employed was absolutely decisive of the point 
at issue. After long and painful reflection upon the subject, 
he at last matured the idea of an experiment, which would 
leave no room for cavil, and would establish the true doctrine 
irrevocably. If the air be a weighty fluid, each horizontal 
stratum of it must be pressed by the accumulated weight of 
all the superincumbent strata, and the pressure must therefore 
diminish as we rise above the surface of the earth. Now, if it 
be the pressure of the air which sustains the column of fluid, 
let the instrument be carried to a considerable height in the 
atmosphere, and the mercury must fall to a lower point in the 
tube. In order that the difference in the height of the mer- 
cury might be very perceptible, and leave no pretext to doubt 
its reality, it was necessary to raise the tube very high in the 
air. The mountain called the Puy-de-D6me, which is in the 
neighborhood of Clermont, and is about three thousand feet 
high, offered a suitable means for accomplishing this object. 
On the 15th of November, 1647, Pascal communicated his 
project to his brother-in-law, M. Perier, who was about to 
visit Clermont, and charged him to make the trial as soon as 
he arrived there. Various circumstances delayed the execu- 
tion of the plan ; but it was tried at last, with all possible ex- 
actness, on the 19th of September, 1648, and all the phenom- 
ena were observed which Pascal had predicted. The mercury 
began to descend in the tube as they climbed the mountain's 
side, and on the summit it was more than three inches lower 
than it had been at the base. As they descended, the column 
rose again, till they reached the plain, where it had the same 
elevation as at first. In another tube, which had been ob- 
served meanwhile on the plain, no alteration had taken place. 
Pascal made similar experiments at Paris, by means of the 
very lofty tower of St. Jacques-la- Boucherie, and obtained cor- 
responding results. 



390 BLAISE PASCAL. 

Herschel, quoted with approbation by Mr. Hallani, calls 
this famous experiment " a crucial instance, one of the first, if 
not the very first, on record in physics." Indeed, the whole 
history of Pascal's investigations respecting the pressure of 
the atmosphere is such a striking and beautiful illustration of 
the Baconian system, that we must believe he had studied the 
" Novum Organum," an edition of which was printed in Hol- 
land in 1645, just a year before Pascal began his work. His 
final success appears the more remarkable, when we consider 
that he was not yet twenty-five years old. 

The experiments upon the pressure of the atmosphere nat- 
urally led Pascal to some more general inquiries respecting the 
equilibrium of fluids. He wrote two treatises upon this sub- 
ject and upon the weight of the air, which were finished in 
1653, though they were not published till after his death. 
They contain the record of some ingenious experiments, and 
many general views, which were considerably in advance of 
the science of his time. He remarks, that the air is a com- 
pressible and elastic fluid, and cites, as a proof of this, a trial 
which he had caused to be made on the Puy-de-D6me, where 
a balloon partly filled with air at the base, on being carried to 
the summit, was entirely distended; it shrunk again as the 
party descended the mountains, and regained its former vol- 
ume at the foot. He made some observations, also, on the 
changes to which the column of mercury is exposed, while 
kept at the same place, proceeding from the variations of the 
weather. He did not, indeed, divine all the barometrical uses 
of this instrument, though he seems to have accomplished 
more in this way than any one of his contemporaries. 

If we except the mathematical inquiry respecting the cy- 
cloid, which was taken up rather as a diversion during his last 
illness, it may be said, that Pascal's scientific labors termi- 
nated when he had attained the age of thirty. It is not sur- 
prising, then, that their results should hardly appear so nu- 
merous and brilliant as those obtained by one or two of his 
illustrious contemporaries, in an age which was the most re- 
markable, perhaps, for the progress of science and the devel- 
opment of the human mind, of any in the history of the world. 
But as indications of what he might have done in a longer pe- 



BLAISE PASCAL. 391 

riod, or under more favorable circumstances, — as evidence of 
the vast power and fertility of his youthful intellect, they will 
never cease to command the wonder and admiration of man- 
kind. 

The father of Pascal died in 1651 ; and two years after- 
wards, his sister Jacqueline, to whom he was tenderly at- 
tached, retired forever from the world, by uniting herself to 
the company of pious recluses at Port Royal. Anxious to 
show the fervor of her religious faith, and her grateful feelings 
towards the brother who had first directed her own steps to 
the path of peace, she sought to win him also from the world, 
by causing him to renounce his former studies, and to seek 
only for the things of heaven. Various circumstances aided 
the execution of this pious scheme. An attack of paralysis, 
several years before, had nearly deprived him of the use of his 
legs, and diseases of the nervous system and the stomach had 
now brought him to the verge of the grave. There was no 
course left for him but to abandon his engrossing labors, at 
least for a season, to turn his thoughts to other subjects, and 
patiently to await either the partial restoration of his health, 
or a final release from earthly suffering. During the tedious 
hours of illness, his mind reverted to the religious counsels he 
had received in his youth. His father had carefully sown in 
his mind the seeds of piety and Christian faith. These had 
remained quiet, though not wholly inoperative, during his 
early manhood, while the whole force of his intellect was 
directed to scientific pursuits. But they sprang up with a 
most luxuriant growth, when these pursuits were forcibly in- 
terrupted for a time by physical suffering. The objects for 
which he had hitherto labored so strenuously now lost all 
value in his eyes. The memory of youthful triumphs was no 
longer pleasant ; the reputation he had already gained, the 
hopes of still greater distinction which he had once cherished, 
were now ranked among the vain joys and aspirations of a 
world which seemed to be fading from his sight, as another 
one of more glorious promise opened to his view from beyond 
the grave. He resolved to mortify his ambition and love of 
science, to quench even the natural spark of family affection, 
to deny himself the ordinary comforts of life, and to devote 



392 BLAISE PASCAL. 

his whole soul to the contemplation of God and a future life. 
He became a recluse, an ascetic, an enthusiast ; we will not 
say, a fanatic, for his cruelties were lavished only on himself. 
The end was not yet ; a few more years remained to him, dur- 
ing which his achievements in defence of persecuted innocence 
and religious truth were destined to surpass in splendor his 
early contributions to the cause of human learning. 

During the extremity of bodily pain, this change of pur- 
pose wrought so powerfully on his mind, that at one time he 
was probably on the brink of insanity. As he slowly and 
imperfectly recovered, the intensity of feeling subsided in 
some degree, but was revived and made permanent by the 
consequences of an accident. As he was crossing the Pont 
de Neuilly in a carriage, the horses became restive and un- 
manageable, and at a point where there was no railing to the 
bridge, they leaped into the river. Fortunately, the traces 
broke, and the carriage stopped on the brink ; but the frail 
system of Pascal received a shock so violent that he fainted, 
and was with great difficulty restored to consciousness. The 
alarm and the jar of the head which were thus caused had a 
sensible effect on his excited imagination, and he became sub- 
ject to a kind of false sensation not uncommon in certain 
forms of mental disease. He saw a frightful precipice yawn- 
ing continually at his side ; and though his reason convinced 
him that it was unreal, he could not resist the terror which 
it occasioned. We find indistinct notices of a sort of vision 
or ecstasy, which he had soon afterwards, and which was at- 
tributed to the same cause. As a memorial of this vision, he 
preserved for a long time a paper on which were written the 
day and the hour when it occurred, and some detached pious 
meditations ; and this paper he constantly carried about with 
him, as if it were an amulet, concealed within the lining of 
his dress. It is difficult to say, whether this was an effect of 
partial insanity, or of some superstitious idea which he had 
connected with the vision. At any rate, he considered the 
accident on the bridge as a warning given to him by Heaven 
to break off all human engagements, and to live in future for 
God alone. It is painful to read the minute account given by 
his sister of the privations and sufferings imposed upon him- 



BLAISE PASCAL. 393 

self by this unhappy enthusiast, during the remainder of his 
life. Great as these austerities were, they never altered the 
sweetness of his disposition, nor impaired the astonishing 
vigor and acuteness of his intellect, whenever he had occasion 
to use his pen in the cause of truth. 

Pascal now became an intimate friend of the most distin- 
guished Port Royalists, and though he never formally united 
himself to their society, he was accustomed to make them long 
visits, and was led to espouse their doctrines, and to take an 
active share in the controversies in which they were then en- 
gaged. Among the more eminent of their number, to whom 
he became particularly attached, — similarity in taste, opin- 
ion, and ardor of devotional feeling being the bond of union 
between them, — were Arnauld, Nicole, De Saci, and Lan- 
celot. Of the remarkable association, of which these men were 
the brightest ornaments, and which was at once the glory and 
the shame of France during the seventeenth century, our lim- 
its will not permit us to speak at length ; but some notice of 
it is necessary, in order to make intelligible the history of the 
bitter controversy it waged with the Jesuits, when the genius 
of Pascal came to its rescue at the hour of its greatest need, 
and delayed for many years its destruction by the hands of its 
powerful and bitter antagonists. 

The effects of the Reformation were hardly more conspicu- 
ous upon the feelings and conduct of those who separated from 
the church of Rome, than of those who remained within its 
pale. Fiercely assaulted from all quarters, the ancient Mother 
found greater resources in her own bosom than she had ever 
counted upon in her hour of prosperity. Opposition devel- 
oped her strength ; shame and rivalry purified her morals 
and reduced the number of her corruptions ; and the piety of 
many of her faithful children kindled into a brighter and 
purer flame, as they looked round for means of defence against 
the enthusiastic and unrelenting Reformers. The fanaticism 
of a Spanish soldier, turned monk, created the order of the 
Jesuits, the most effective militia ever organized for the pur- 
poses of ecclesiastical warfare. Fervor of devotional feeling, 
kindled by the exciting religious controversies which then agi- 
tated Europe, gave birth, among other sects, to that of the 



394 BLAISE PASCAL. 

Port Royalists, or Jansenists, of France, composed of persons 
who still adhered with unflinching fidelity to the see of Rome, 
though in practice, and in many points of doctrine, they were 
more nearly allied to some parties among the Reformers. 
Two associations, animated by principles differing so widely 
from each other as those of the Jesuits and the Jansenists, 
could not long coexist in harmony within the same pale. Dis- 
putes on points of faith were carried on with bitter recrimina- 
tions ; and the contest proceeded so far, that the entire destruc- 
tion of one or the other party at last became inevitable. Rome 
temporized as usual, but was obliged to act at last ; and the 
suppression of the monastery of Port Royal, and the persecu- 
tion of the Jansenists, showed how highly she valued the un- 
scrupulous services of the followers of Loyola. 

The controversy, so far as it was exclusively doctrinal, 
turned on the dark problems of predestination, free will, and 
saving grace, which have been almost constantly agitated in 
the Church during its whole history, and are still as far from 
a satisfactory solution as ever. The pious enthusiasm of the 
Jansenists, leading them to confess their utter unworthiness in 
the sight of God, and their total incapacity to execute the di- 
vine commands, caused them to accept in all its severity the 
gloomy doctrine of St. Augustine. They held, that the grace 
of God is free and irresistible ; it is conferred upon the elect, 
not in consideration of their own merits, but by arbitrary ap- 
pointment ; they cannot obtain it by their own acts, nor resist 
its effects whenever it is vouchsafed to them. Man is born 
with so strong an inclination to sin, that, without extraordi- 
nary aid from the Deity, he cannot perform a pious act. The 
human will is absolutely passive ; so that a good action, even 
after conversion, cannot be ascribed in any proper sense to the 
human agent, but is due to the operation of the Spirit. It is 
God that worketh in us, both to will and to do ; and there 
has been no free will for the creature since Adam's time, ex- 
cept to do evil. It is not denied, that all men may be con- 
verted, if they wish for conversion ; but they never can wish 
for it, unless the grace of God is imparted to them for that 
end. 

Appalling as this doctrine seems, when nakedly stated, it 



BLAISE PASCAL. 395 

had belonged to the faith of the Christian world at least since 
the time of Augustine. The church of Rome had held it 
through respect for the authority of that father ; and the early 
Reformers, Luther and Calvin especially, state it without re- 
serve, and engage in its defence with the utmost warmth. 
The former declares, that good and evil are attributable to 
God alone ; man commits sin from the necessary inclination of 
his will, which is enslaved to wickedness, being predetermined 
to it by divine power ; and when he inclines to good, he only 
follows the irresistible impulse of grace, which pushes him on- 
ward like an inanimate body, his own agency having no share 
whatever in the movement. This is the doctrine, certainly, 
of men who have made entire submission of their reason to 
their faith ; and as such, it was accepted and defended by the 
Jansenists and their eloquent champion, Pascal. It is a part 
of that sacrifice which the penitent convert makes to the cause 
of religious truth, to humble the pride of his own intellect, 
and, in all the enthusiasm of self-abasement, to accept propo- 
sitions as dark as these without question or reserve. 

The Jesuits wished to impose no such terrible burden on 
their converts. Their object was to retain waverers in the 
Church, and to allure heretics again into its bosom, by impos- 
ing upon them no austerities of conduct, and no stumbling- 
blocks of doctrine. Lax and unscrupulous in the use of means, 
they preached a convenient system of morals, and an easy 
creed, to their converts. They aimed rather to justify sin 
than to commend holiness ; for they looked only to the exter- 
nal interests of the Church, which was already sure of the 
saints, and now stood in need, as they thought, of the services 
of the sinners. More subtile and ingenious than profound, 
they contrived intermediate systems, wherewith to reconcile 
their own loose doctrines with the oft repeated declarations 
of the Church and the teachings of the Fathers. 

The treatise of the Spanish Jesuit, Molina, published in 
1588, on the agreement between divine grace and human free- 
will, may be considered as the most general exposition of their 
belief on this thorny subject. According to this theory, the 
Deity foreknows not only every event which will actually take 
place, but also what would have happened under certain con- 



396 BLAISE PASCAL. 

ditions, that in fact are never fulfilled. The necessary aid of 
the Spirit is imparted to those only who would have made 
good use of the freedom of the will, if they had possessed it. 
Consequently, men act from necessity ; but also act precisely 
as they would have done, had they been free. Divine grace 
is freely imparted to those who do not, indeed, merit it, but 
whose characters show a certain congruousness or fitness for 
its reception. This is the celebrated system of the " interme- 
diate science," or the foresight of " contingent futures," as 
well as of actual events ; and of " congruousness," instead of 
merit, or arbitrary appointment, which is made the law of dis- 
tribution of the divine assistance. It is evidently an ingenious 
attempt to inculcate the doctrine of Pelagius, without ex- 
pressly contradicting the words of Augustine. The doctrine 
of predestination is retained ; but all events, so far as man is 
concerned, take place exactly as if they were altogether con- 
tingent, or dependent only on the free action of the human 
will. The just are irresistibly inclined to holiness by the ac- 
tion of divine grace ; but if a different appointment of Provi- 
dence had left them entirely at liberty, they would have fol- 
lowed precisely the same course. 

In 1639, Jansenius, Bishop of Ypres, died just as he had 
completed his work called the " Augustinus," which had been 
the labor of his life, and which contained a kind of summary 
of the doctrines of Augustine respecting predestination and 
divine grace. It was published the year after his death ; and, 
as it was a heavy and ill-written book, it would probably have 
attracted little notice, if accident had not rendered it the touch- 
stone of dispute in the memorable controversy between the 
Port Royalists and the Jesuits. St. Cyran, the leader of 
the former party, had been the intimate friend of Jansenius, 
and now strongly recommended his work, as containing the 
whole secret of the doctrine of predestination. His associates, 
the pious and learned recluses of Port Royal des Champs, fol- 
lowed in his track, and defended the opinions of the Bishop of 
Ypres with so much ardor, that they were soon distinguished 
by the name of Jansenists. The Jesuits were enraged to find 
their own system of theology falling out of repute, while a 
dark shade was cast upon the character of their order by the 



BLAISE PASCAL. 397 

superior reputation of their antagonists for sanctity of life and 
purity of doctrine. Not daring to controvert openly the opin- 
ions of Augustine, they vehemently assailed the work of Jan- 
senius, as containing dangerous and heretical doctrine. Their 
outcries and artifices would probably have had little effect, if 
the Jansenists had not unluckily incurred the hatred both of 
Richelieu and Mazarin ; the former imprisoned St. Cyran at 
Vincennes, and the latter openly countenanced the machina- 
tions of the Jesuits. Emboldened by such aid, the Jesuits 
fulminated the most atrocious calumnies against the members 
of the hated sect, and left no stone unturned to effect their 
utter ruin. But their success depended upon maintaining the 
charge of heresy ; for they had to do with men whose abilities 
and reputation were far greater than their own, and who ac- 
quired more public esteem from the very persecution under 
which they were suffering. Such adversaries as Arnauld, 
Nicole, Saci, and Pascal were more to be dreaded than sim- 
ple theologians. They were men of philosophical minds and 
high literary merit. They had acquired zealous and power- 
ful friends throughout the kingdom, and even at the court, by 
their talents, their virtues, and the signal services which they 
had rendered to literature and science. But in that age and 
country, the single charge of heresy was enough to effect their 
destruction. 

In 1649, Father Cornet, Syndic of the Faculty of the Sor- 
bonne, drew up five propositions on the mysteries of divine 
grace, which he denounced, as opinions drawn from the work 
of Jansenius by Arnauld and his followers. After a long con- 
test at Rome, Innocent the Tenth finally decided that the 
propositions were heretical ; and that one of them especially, 
which declared that Jesus Christ had not died for all men, was 
false, rash, and scandalous; and if understood to mean, that 
the Saviour had died for the elect alone, it was impious and 
blasphemous. But he said nothing about the question, whether 
these doctrines were actually contained in the " Augustinus." 
The Jansenists affirmed, that they could not be found there, 
and though they bowed with perfect submission to the author- 
ity of the Holy See, and admitted the five propositions to be 
heretical in the sense which was attached to them, they re- 



398 BLAISE PASCAL. 

fused to condemn the dogma of efficacious grace which is es- 
sential for an act of piety, or to reject the authority of St. Au- 
gustine, which had always been revered in the Church. They 
took a distinction between the pope's right to judge of points 
of doctrine, and his authority to settle questions of fact; the 
former they admitted to the fullest extent, while they boldly 
denied the latter. Questions of this class, they said, can be 
determined only by the senses. Pascal always speaks with en- 
tire reverence of the authority of the Church, as represented 
by the supreme pontiff, in matters of faith ; but respecting 
matters of fact > he holds the following bold language : — 

" It was in vain," he says, addressing the Jesuits, " that you ob- 
tained a decree from Rome against Galileo, which condemned his 
opinion respecting the movement of the earth. That will never 
prove that it stands still ; and if there is a series of constant observa- 
tions to show that it turns on its axis, all the men in the world will 
never prevent it from turning, nor prevent themselves from turning 
along with it. Do not imagine, either, that the letters of Pope Zach- 
arias, excommunicating St. Virgilius, because he maintained the ex- 
istence of the antipodes, have annihilated this new world ; and al- 
though he declared this opinion was a dangerous error, the King of 
Spain did well in believing Christopher Columbus, who had returned 
from this new world, rather than the opinion of the Pope, who had 
never been there ; and the Church gained a great advantage thereby, 
as a knowledge of the gospel was thus imparted to many nations, who 
would otherwise have perished in their sins." 

All the theologians in France were now in arms upon the 
apparently simple question, whether the five propositions, ad- 
mitted on all hands to be heretical, were really contained in 
the work of Jansenius, or not. Arnauld and his followers 
confidently asked to have them pointed out ; the Jesuits ac- 
cumulated all sorts of authorities, except the book itself, to 
prove that they were contained in it. The truth was, every- 
body knew that the substance, but not the identical words, of 
the five propositions were to be found in the book ; but the 
Jesuits durst not cite the passages confirmatory of this view, 
for then their opponents would have obtained an easy tri- 
umph, by showing that Jansenius had used Augustine's own 
words, and Rome was by no means prepared to repudiate the 






BLAISE PASCAL. 399 

high authority of that Father, " the doctor of grace." The 
Jesuits charged their antagonists with upholding Calvinism, 
and were themselves accused, in turn, of favoring Pelagianism. 
It was a pitiable thing, as D'Alembert says, to see the time 
and talents of the ablest men in the kingdom wasted on fan- 
tastic and interminable discussions about free will and divine 
grace, and on the important question, whether five unintelli- 
gible propositions were contained in a stupid book which no- 
body ever thought of reading. Persecuted, imprisoned, exiled 
on account of these vain disputes, and continually occupied in 
defending such a futile cause, how many years in their lives 
have philosophy and letters to mourn over as utterly wasted ! 

Among those who combated for Jansenius, no one so much 
distinguished himself for zeal and vehemence as Arnauld. In- 
flexible, ardent, and indefatigable, he had all the qualities 
requisite for being the successful leader of a sect. In 1655, a 
priest of St. Sulpice refused absolution to the Duke de Lian- 
court, because he was a friend of the Port Royalists, and had 
allowed his grandchild to be a pupil in their seminary. Ar- 
nauld took fire at this insult, and published two very severe 
letters, commenting on the bigotry and injustice evinced by 
this act. Among other offensive things, he said he had read 
the work of Jansenius, and could not find the heretical propo- 
sitions in it ; and that the gospel " offers us, in the case of St. 
Peter, the example of a just man, to whom the divine grace, 
without which nothing can be effected, was wanting, on an 
occasion when no one can say that he did not sin." For pub- 
lishing these assertions, he was immediately arraigned before 
the Sorbonne as a contumacious heretic. The discussion ex- 
cited great interest, for it was regarded as a decisive trial of 
strength between the two parties. The hall of the Sorbonne 
was crowded, as the Jesuits and their opponents mustered all 
their forces for the encounter ; and the former, especially, 
brought in so many mendicant monks, as to give occasion for 
a sarcastic remark by Pascal, that it was more easy for them 
to find monks than arguments. The condemnation of Arnauld 
was inevitable ; for the Jesuits had strengthened themselves 
by an alliance with the Dominicans and other orders, wrecks 
of the Middle Ages, whom a secret instinct brought together 



400 BLAISE PASCAL. 

as opponents of the new order of things. The minority was 
composed in great part of the secular clergy. Sentence was 
passed in January, 1656, when the two assertions cited above 
were not only condemned as heretical, but Arnauld himself 
was forever excluded from his seat in the faculty of theology. 

The triumph of the Jesuits seemed complete ; but their joy 
was at once checked and turned into dismay by the sudden 
appearance in the opposite ranks of a new champion, far more 
formidable than any whom they had hitherto encountered. 
Just before sentence was passed, appeared the first of Pascal's 
« Provincial Letters," as they are usually called, though the 
more proper title is, " Letters written by Louis de Montalte 
to one of his Friends in the Country." The others, eighteen 
in number, were published successively, at intervals of several 
weeks' duration, for more than a year and a half. Never was 
more seasonable and effectual aid brought to the rescue of a 
sinking cause. These masterpieces of style and argument, of 
wit and eloquence, did more to ruin the name and the cause 
of the Jesuits, than all the discussions that had been urged 
in the schools of theology, and all the enemies they had pro- 
voked among the reigning powers of Europe. Eminently pop- 
ular and intelligible in style, abounding with the happiest 
flashes of pleasantry and fancy, passing with ease and grace 
from the keenest ridicule to the loftiest invective, they were 
read and almost committed to memory by all classes of men, 
while the heavy and abusive answers to them passed unno- 
ticed, and were soon forgotten. They provoked the unwilling 
praise even of Voltaire, who said that the earlier letters had 
more wit than the best comedies of Moliere, and the later ones 
more sublimity than the finest compositions of Bossuet. The 
same excellent judge attributes to them the fixation of the 
French language, and says, that after the lapse of more than 
a century, not a word or phrase employed in them had become 
obsolete. The clearness and precision with which the points 
at issue are explained, and the tone of severe morality and fer- 
vent piety which pervades these admirable Letters, made them 
as persuasive and convincing as they were delightful. The 
Jesuits found themselves exposed to the ridicule and indigna- 
tion of all Europe, in a publication destined to be as lasting 



BLAISE PASCAL. 401 

and as widely diffused as the language in which it was writ- 
ten. They had no writers among their number capable of 
averting or returning this terrible blow ; for it was aptly said 
of them, that at all times " their penknives were more to be 
dreaded than their pens." The Jesuit Annat remarked, that 
for an answer to the first fifteen Letters, he had only to repeat 
fifteen times over, that the writer of them was a Jansenist. 

In the first three Letters, Pascal examines the points of dis- 
pute, which were involved in the trial of Arnauld. He ex- 
poses with great wit and severity the fraudulent alliance be- 
tween the Jesuits and the Dominicans against the Jansenists, 
in which the two contracting parties covered up their funda- 
mental differences of opinion by an abuse of language, using 
phrases which either had no meaning at all, or involved the 
grossest contradictions. The Dominicans had always main- 
tained the doctrine of " efficacious grace " necessary for any 
good action, and that human liberty does not consist in indif- 
ference, but is compatible with a certain kind of necessity 
which springs from the irresistible power of divine grace. The 
Jesuits, who were followers of Molina, denied both these dog- 
mas, and affirmed the existence of "sufficient grace," and " im- 
mediate power " to do good or to abstain from it, without any 
extraneous aid. Their allies employed the same phrases, but 
attached a different meaning to them, understanding thereby, 
that the powers spoken of were of no effect without the addi- 
tional aid of the Spirit. They covenanted to use these techni- 
calities without any reference to the sense which the Molinists 
attached to them, on condition that the Jesuits would not 
oblige them to explain their whole meaning, and would con- 
tinue to declare that the doctrine of the Thomists was ortho- 
dox. Here was fine scope for the sarcastic commentary of 
Pascal on the dogma of " sufficient grace," which did not suf- 
fice for the performance of any pious act, and of " immediate 
power," which was of no avail except by the special assistance 
of the Deity. The irony with which he exposes these gross 
tergiversations is keen but tempered, and flashes out into elo- 
quent indignation only at the close, when he comes to speak of 
the great purpose of this unholy compact, which was to effect 
the condemnation of the Jansenists. 

26 



402 BLAISE PASCAL. 

By adopting the epistolary form of composition, which ad- 
mits great freedom of transition and colloquial piquancy of 
style, and by throwing most of the argument into the garb of 
dialogue, Pascal contrived to render even this abstruse and 
perplexed controversy intelligible and pleasant to all classes of 
readers. He had less difficulty with the remainder of his task, 
which was to expose the false morality of the Jesuit casuists. 
From writers of established reputation among them, such as 
Escobar, Busenbaum, Bauny, and others, he has accumulated 
a long list of scandalous decisions, and has dwelt upon them 
with so much wit and severity, that he has rendered the very 
name of Jesuitism a synonyme for chicane, deception, and 
falsehood. It is a curious corroboration of this fact, that the 
popularity of his Letters in France introduced the word esco- 
barder, meaning " to prevaricate, or shuffle," into common use 
in the language. Pascal is often accused, though without 
reason, of treating the Jesuits unfairly, by holding the whole 
society responsible for the unauthorized doctrines of individual 
members. But he cites those works only which were of re- 
pute among them, which were adopted by them as guides in 
the confessional chair, and had passed through many editions. 
Escobar's treatise on Moral Theology, which Pascal quotes 
most frequently, went through forty editions, and more than 
fifty editions were published of the casuistical writings of Bu- 
senbaum. The Jesuits, also, were too proud and resolute, too 
firmly attached to each other and to the reputation of the so- 
ciety as a whole, to censure or repudiate works which they 
had once sanctioned. They yielded nothing, they disavowed 
nothing, but perished in the attempt to defend all. They ac- 
cused their assailant of making unfair quotations, but did not 
deny that the writers whom he cited were authoritative. Pas- 
cal replied, that he had read Escobar twice through, and had 
not cited a passage from the other authors, without seeing it 
in the book, and carefully examining the context. 

In truth, the ethical doctrines which he reprobates were in- 
terwoven with, the fundamental principles of the society, and 
were a necessary consequence of the position which the Jesuits 
had assumed, and the mission which they had undertaken to 
accomplish. Their society was the last great instrument of 






BLAISE PASCAL. 403 

the old papal dominion. It came into the world too late for 
its work ; for the great schism had taken place, and no array 
of forces, however well disciplined, could prevent the fatal 
consequences of such a rent in the Church. They undertook 
to reverse the declaration of the Saviour, that the children of 
this world are, in their generation, wiser than the children of 
light. They borrowed the weapons of the devil to serve 
heaven with, and aimed to subjugate the world by conforming 
themselves to its spirit. When they could not face the nobler 
instincts of humanity, they made skilful and unhesitating use 
of all the baser appetites and passions, and became the ready 
tools and apologists of those who wished to compromise be- 
tween conscience and convenience. They preached a miti- 
gated doctrine of religion and morals, and thereby made them- 
selves acceptable at court, and gained the private ear of the 
monarchs, of whom they were the favorite confessors. The 
Jesuits Annat, Le Tellier, and La Chaise governed France by 
granting absolution on easy terms to the sins of Louis the 
Fourteenth ; the gratitude of the king being proportioned to 
the number of his offences, and to the indulgence with which 
they were considered. Their precepts formed the monstrous 
anomaly of his religious character, — a compound of bigoted 
devotion and moral turpitude. But the Jesuits were too adroit 
to profit in their own persons by the laxity of the principles 
which they preached to others. Strange as it may seem, they 
were generally irreproachable, and even austere, in their pri- 
vate conduct. This contradiction occasioned the sarcastic re- 
mark, that they purchased heaven very dearly for themselves, 
but sold it at a very cheap bargain to their converts. 

Acute and subtile in reasoning, they reduced their false 
morality to a system, and framed consistent rules for their 
own guidance in the practices of confession and absolution. 
They defined sin to be a wilful violation of the law of God, 
and measured its enormity by the penitent's consciousness of 
its true character, and by his free consent to its commission. 
Strong temptation and temporary forgetfulness of the divine 
command palliated the offence, by hiding its sinful nature 
from the view of the transgressor. Since hardly any one loves 
sin as such, or for its own sake, a sufficient mantle is hereby 



404 BLAISE PASCAL. 

provided to cover the greatest enormities. Habit, or even 
bad example, which, increases the force of temptation, par- 
tially excuses the act ; that which is not wantonly or gratui- 
tously committed is not to be severely judged. Other grounds 
of pardon were also recognized. One of the most abominable 
of these is the doctrine of mental reservation, which allows 
one to make a promise coupled with a secret condition in his 
own mind, which he knows is not understood by the person to 
whom the promise is given. A man may say what is true in 
the meaning that he attaches to it, though he is aware that 
it will be interpreted in a different sense. Even perjury is 
allowable, if one only swears outwardly, without inwardly in- 
tending what he professes. Duelling is forbidden ; but if a 
person is in danger of losing an office, or forfeiting the good 
opinion of his ruler, by refusing to engage in a duel, he is not 
to be condemned for fighting ; for then he does not wish to 
violate the law, but only to preserve his honor or his station. 

These were the detestable maxims of Jesuitical casuistry, 
maxims deliberately recommended in their books and taught 
from the confessional chair, which Pascal so happily exposed. 
By holding them up to public reprobation and contempt, he 
rendered no less signal service to morality and religion than 
to the almost desperate fortunes of the Port Royalists. But 
even the publication of the " Provincial Letters," though it 
covered the assailants with shame, would not, probably, have 
sufficed for the protection of the assailed, if a supposed mir- 
acle, perhaps the best accredited of its class in modern times, 
had not taken place, and created a popular belief, of which 
the Jansenists instantly availed themselves, that Heaven itself 
was interposing in behalf of the persecuted sect. 

Pascal's niece, a girl about eleven years of age, the daugh- 
ter of Madame Perier, resided as a pupil in the Port Royal 
nunnery. The poor child had been afflicted for more than 
three years with a fistula lacryvialis, in the corner of the left 
eye. It had affected the bones of the nose and palate, and 
frightfully disfigured her externally, one side of her face being 
entirely ulcerated. After the ablest physicians and surgeons 
of Paris had exhausted their skill upon the case without ef- 
fect, they determined to make trial of the actual cautery, and 



BLAISE PASCAL. 405 

the day for this painful operation was fixed. Meanwhile, a 
collector of relics in the city, named M. de la Potterie, pre- 
tended to have gained possession of one of the thorns which 
had composed the crown that the soldiers platted and put 
upon our Saviour's head. As Voltaire remarks, by what 
means such an extraordinary relic was preserved, and trans- 
ported from Jerusalem to the Faubourg St. Jacques, we are 
not informed. But the populace believed in the Holy Thorn, 
and the members of the several religious communities vied with 
each other in their eagerness to have it exhibited at their re- 
spective establishments. Among others, the Port Royal nuns 
requested to see it, and it was carried to them on the 24th of 
March, 1656. It was placed on a little altar within the grate 
of the choir, and a procession of the pupils and nuns marched 
by, singing appropriate hymns, and each in her turn kissing 
the holy relic. One of the instructors stood near, and could 
not help shuddering as she saw the disfigured little girl ap- 
proach. " Recommend yourself to God, my child," she ex- 
claimed, " and touch your diseased eye with the Holy Thorn." 
The command was obeyed, and the little girl instantly felt 
the assurance, as she afterwards declared, that she was healed. 
She told one of her young companions of the fact that night, 
and the next day it was made known to the nuns, who ex- 
amined the eye, and found the cure was complete. There 
was no tumor, or exudation of matter, not even a scar. 

Three or four days afterwards, Dalence', one of the sur- 
geons who were engaged to apply the hot iron, came to the 
house, and asked to see the patient. She was brought to him, 
but he did not recognize her, and said again that he wished to 
see the girl whose eye and cheek were ulcerated. " She now 
stands before you," was the reply. Amazed at such an an- 
nouncement, he examined the little girl with great care, and 
could not find any trace of the disease. He then sent for his 
two associates, who repeated the examination, and declared 
that the patient was entirely cured. The report of this mira- 
cle created great sensation in Paris. Crowds flocked to Port 
Royal, to behold and admire the Holy Thorn. The queen 
mother deputed M. Felix, first surgeon of the king, who en- 
joyed a high reputation for probity and skill, to inquire into 



406 BLAISE PASCAL. 

the truth of the story. He questioned the nuns and the sur- 
geons, drew up an account of the origin, progress, and end of 
the disease, attentively examined the girl, and at last declared, 
in a paper attested by his signature, that neither nature nor art 
had had any share in the cure, but that it was attributable to 
God alone. The cry was now universal, that divine power 
had interposed in behalf of the Jansenists, and their enemies 
were covered with confusion and dismay. The severe meas- 
ures that had been instituted against the Port Royal society 
were instantly relaxed. The nuns were again allowed to re- 
ceive their pupils, the illustrious recluses returned to the spot 
consecrated by their studies and devotions, and even Arnauld 
came forth from his hiding-place, and gave God thanks. 
Mademoiselle Perier lived seventy-five years after this event, 
without any return of the malady. She was still alive when 
the poet Racine drew up his narrative of the affair, from which 
we have taken this account. 

The generation which has given credit to the wonders of 
animal magnetism has no right to laugh at the miracle of the 
Holy Thorn. Putting aside the inference respecting super- 
natural agency, the fact itself, attested by such men as Fe- 
lix, Arnauld, Racine, and Pascal, who had full opportunity to 
satisfy themselves of the truth of the statement, cannot be 
lightly questioned. An almost desperate malady was sud- 
denly cured under the circumstances related. Is it reasona- 
ble to suppose, that this event was produced by the special 
interposition of the Deity in behalf of the Jansenists ? Think- 
ing and judicious persons at the present day will answer this 
question, without hesitation, in the negative. They will ad- 
mit the mysterious character of disease, and the remarkable 
results often produced by the working of occult natural causes, 
like the wonderful operations of sympathy, and the curative 
effects of a lively imagination and strong emotions. But 
rather than admit the interference of supernatural causes, they 
will accept the commentary of Voltaire, apart from the dia- 
bolical sneer with which it is uttered. " It is not very likely," 
says the old scoffer, " that God, who makes no miracles to im- 
part a knowledge of our religion to nineteen twentieths of 
mankind, to whom this religion is either unknown or an object 



BLAISE PASCAL. 407 

of horror, did actually interrupt the order of nature for a 
little girl, in order to justify a few nuns, who pretended that 
Cornelius Jansen did not write about a dozen lines which were 
attributed to him, or that he wrote them with a diiferent in- 
tention from that imputed to him by the Jesuits." 

Neither the publication of the " Provincial Letters," nor 
the miracle of the Holy Thorn, sufficed to avert for a long 
period the persecution and final ruin of the sect of the Jan- 
senists. But the respite thus procured lasted till the death 
of Pascal, who was thus spared the bitter anguish of behold- 
ing the defeat and dispersion of his beloved associates. His 
physical sufferings now became extreme, and, in 1658, they 
were increased by a long-continued toothache, which almost 
entirely deprived him of sleep. During the restless hours of 
the night, thus passed in an agony of pain, his mind reverted 
to his former mathematical pursuits, and, as a mere diversion, 
he meditated and solved his famous problems relative to the 
cycloid. 

The mind of the religious enthusiast could not long be di- 
verted by such labors from the more solemn topics which 
had now for years engrossed his attention. His devotional 
exercises became more and more absorbing, and the prac- 
tices of penitence and self-denial, to which he submitted, were 
rapidly consuming his enfeebled powers of life. Devoting 
nearly his whole income to the service of the poor, he deprived 
himself of every luxury, and of most of the comforts of or- 
dinary existence. In a small chamber, from which he had 
caused even the tapestry to be removed, lest it should gratify 
his eye, and where he would not allow himself the services of 
a single domestic, so long as his strength sufficed for making 
his own bed, he passed most of his time in prayer and the 
study of the Scriptures. To this cheerless and unfurnished 
apartment men distinguished in every walk of science and 
letters frequently resorted, to profit by the conversation of the 
greatest genius of his country, and perhaps of his age. He 
talked with vivacity and wit, as might be expected from the 
author of the " Provincial Letters," and displayed without 
effort or reserve the stores of his information and the vast 
range of his intellect. Human nature is weak, and he could 



408 BLAISE PASCAL. 

not but be gratified and flattered to find Ins conversation so 
acceptable to others, and to observe the superiority of his 
spirit to theirs. But this pleasure was a weakness, it was 
even a sin, in the eyes of the pious devotee. It was to be 
mortified, with the other enticements of the flesh, and to be 
kept in subjection to the love of God and the hope of heaven. 
He wore a girdle, with sharp points on the inside, next to 
his flesh, and when he felt any movement of vanity or extraor- 
dinary pleasure in conversation, he pressed the iron torture 
more closely to his side, that physical pain might remind 
him of his frailty and his duty. Pitiable and perverted, in- 
deed, though fervent and pure in him, was the religious faith 
which led to the infliction of such gratuitous suffering. 

In strict conformity to his principle, that it was necessary 
to renounce all the pleasures of this world, he tried to stifle 
even the ordinary impulses of natural affection, and to pre- 
serve a cold and rigid exterior to his nearest friends, even 
when his heart was overflowing with kindness and love. His 
kindness was not confined to those with whom he was con- 
nected by natural ties ; on the sick and destitute stranger 
his bounty was lavished with all the heroism of benevolence. 
During his last illness, he had given a lodging in his house to 
a poor man and his son, from whom he received no return but 
gratitude. The son was attacked with the small-pox, and 
could not be carried to another habitation without danger. 
Pascal's feeble condition required the constant care of his sis- 
ter ; and as her children had not had this disease, he desired to 
save them from the risk of receiving the infection through 
their mother's attendance upon himself. Under these cir- 
cumstances, weak and suffering as he was, he gave up his own 
home to the sick boy, and went to reside at the house of his 
sister. 

Except his elder sister, Madame Perier, he was now alone 
in the world. His father had died in 1651, and the loss had 
made a deep impression upon him ; for the similarity of their 
characters and pursuits had drawn them together in a closer 
and more affectionate intimacy than that which usually exists 
between parent and child. A letter which he wrote on this 
occasion is preserved among his works, and shows a spirit of 



BLAISE PASCAL. 409 

the most exalted piety, without a trace of cant or affected 
feeling. Ten years afterwards, he lost Jacqueline also, the 
infant actress, whose graceful pleading had redeemed their 
father from exile, and whose later years had been entirely 
consecrated to God's service in the nunnery at Port Royal. 
She had become sub-prioress in this institution, and her death 
was hastened by perplexity and grief, after the machinations 
of the Jesuits had at length caused the inexorable decree to 
go forth, that all the Jansenist nuns should subscribe the for- 
mulary, which contained an explicit renunciation of the opin- 
ions they had so long cherished. Strange effect, that a per- 
verted faith and ecclesiastical persecution should cause a 
woman to die of grief, because required to sign a declaration, 
that the five propositions in their heretical sense were actually 
written in the book of Jansenius ! The historian of the Port 
Royalists records the remark which she made on her death- 
bed, that she was " the first victim of the formulary." Pas- 
cal was tenderly attached to her, and when informed of her 
death, exclaimed with a sigh, " God grant that my end may 
be like hers ! " 

His own life was now rapidly drawing to a close, though one 
work still remained for him to accomplish. It was meet that 
a spirit touched to so fine issues should not leave the world 
without bequeathing to it a more valuable and befitting memo- 
rial of united genius and piety than was contained in the Let- 
ters respecting the controversy with the Jesuits. For three 
years before his death, the progress of his disease, and the 
paroxysms of pain that he endured, left only infrequent and 
short intervals during which his mind was capable of effort ; 
but these he zealously employed in making preparations for 
a great work on the philosophy of human nature and the 
proofs of the Christian religion. On these subjects he wrote 
down detached thoughts, as they occurred to him, upon loose 
scraps of paper ; and when he was incapable of holding the 
pen for himself, a faithful domestic sat by his bedside, and 
wrote from his dictation. In this way there was accumulated 
a mass of unconnected hints and aphorisms, which he was not 
allowed to arrange and complete. 

In the summer of 1662, another painful disease was added 



410 BLAISE PASCAL. 

to those which had already undermined his constitution and 
brought him to . the brink of the grave. When this malady 
was at its height, frequently depriving him of consciousness, 
he was removed to his sister's house for the reason already 
mentioned. There he tranquilly occupied himself in prepar- 
ing for death. He made his will, leaving large sums to the 
poor ; and would have bequeathed to them his whole property, 
if the condition of his sister's children, who were not rich, 
had not required his aid. As he could not do more for the 
sick and the destitute, he wished at least to die among them, 
and he eagerly desired his friends to carry him to the Hospital 
for the Incurables. They could dissuade him from executing 
this intention only by promising, that, if he recovered, he 
should be free to devote his whole life and property to the 
service of the poor. In the beginning of August, as his end 
was obviously nigh at hand, he called with great earnestness 
for the last services of the Church. This request was at 
length granted, after a fainting-fit had occurred, which lasted 
so long that his friends believed he was dead. But he re- 
covered sufficiently to raise himself on the couch, and receive 
the sacrament with marks of resignation and deep feeling, 
which drew tears from all the beholders. A moment after- 
wards, he fell into convulsions, which closed the scene. He 
died on the 29th of August, 1662, aged thirty-nine years. In 
the church of St. Etienne du Mont, at Paris, a marble tablet 
on one of the pillars near the great altar, with a simple in- 
scription, informs the reader that he is standing upon the 
tomb of Pascal. 

The loose hints and unconnected fragments, which he had 
prepared for his great work on the proofs of the Christian 
religion, were first collected and published in 1670, under the 
title of " Thoughts of M. Pascal upon Religion and some 
other Topics." They were left at his death in a state of utter 
confusion, and in the first edition, many of them were sup- 
pressed, and the others were printed in a very defective ar- 
rangement, so that portions of the work appeared very obscure. 
Bossut superintended a complete edition of them in 1779, 
having diligently examined the original manuscripts, and per- 
fected the classification which was commenced by Condorcet. 



BLAISE PASCAL. 411 

A few years before, Voltaire had published an edition, with 
notes, such as might be expected from one of his character 
and principles. He hated Pascal's creed, and called him " a 
sublime misanthrope " ; but according to his own confession, 
he had studied the " Provincial Letters " and the " Thoughts," 
till he almost knew them by heart. We read them now as 
general aphorisms, which apparently have little immediate 
connection with each other, though the leading purpose of the 
writer is sufficiently obvious, and they all seem to converge 
towards the great questions respecting human nature and 
destiny. The fine discernment of the writer, the scientific 
exactness and condensation of the style, are the more apparent 
from the broken and fragmentary condition of the " Thoughts." 
There is a want of roundness and flow in the composition, but 
it is admirable for terseness and epigrammatic point. Some- 
times he is hurried away by the love of antithesis, and the ex- 
pression is often so elliptical as to be obscure. But the origi- 
nal and striking character of the reflections, the keen analysis 
of motives, the vivacity and energy of the style, the rapid and 
forcible progress of the arguments, and the singular richness 
and novelty of the illustrations, command the reader's atten- 
tion through all these disadvantages. A more impressive and 
eloquent work does not exist in the French language. 

The " Thoughts " are deeply tinged with the despondency 
of the writer's mind, and with the peculiarities of his religious 
opinions. He seems to triumph in exposing the weakness and 
imperfection of human nature, and the vanity of human pur- 
suits. The corruption of the heart and the weakness of the 
intellect are the themes on which he most willingly expa- 
tiates, using at times bitter sarcasm and the loftiest invective. 
"His melancholy genius," says Hallam, " plays in wild and 
rapid flashes, like the lightning round the scathed oak, about 
the fallen greatness of man." But it is not with the mocking 
spirit of a satirist that he dilates upon the fallen and wretched 
condition of our race. In his eyes, man is weak and degraded, 
but not contemptible ; his view is fixed as much upon the 
heights from which he has fallen, as upon the abyss into which 
he is plunged. His magnificent lamentations are uttered 
in the spirit of Jeremiah weeping over the sins of his nation, 



412 BLAISE PASCAL. 

and pointing out the ruin with which it is menaced. He 
seeks to humble only that he may exalt, to point out the 
frailty and wretchedness of man's condition in this world, 
only that his attention may be diverted from it, and fixed upon 
the unutterable splendors of the life to come. " Man is so 
great," he says, " that his grandeur appears from the knowl- 
edge he has of his own misery. A tree knows not that it is 
wretched. True, it is sad to know that we are miserable ; 
but it is also a mark of greatness to be aware of this misery. 
Thus all the wretchedness o£ man proves his nobleness. It is 
the unhappiness of a great lord, the misery of a dethroned 
king." The misery of our present condition is aggravated by 
the consciousness that we have fallen from a state of inno- 
cence and peace. Like the poet, Pascal finds that there is 
no greater grief than the recollection of happiness formerly 
enjoyed. " Who, but a discrowned monarch," he asks, " is 
grieved that he does not possess a throne ? Who thinks 
himself unhappy, because he has but one mouth ? And who 
is not unhappy, if he has but one eye ? No one ever thought 
of sorrowing, because he has not three eyes ; but he is incon- 
solable, if he has but one." 

The chief purpose of the work is to show man's need of 
religion, in order both to explain the enigma of his present 
state, and to console him in the midst of privation and suffer- 
ing. The argument is not addressed to the understanding, 
but to the feelings ; and its aim is rather to persuade than to 
convince. " The heart has its reasons," he says, " which 
the intellect knoweth not of ; we perceive this truth in a thou- 
sand things. It is the heart, and not the reason, which finds 
out God ; and this is perfect faith, God made known to the 
heart." Metaphysical proofs of a God, he continues, are so 
far removed from the ordinary sphere of human reason, and so 
abstruse, that they make little impression ; if serviceable to a 
few, they will be so only so long as the demonstration is be- 
fore them ; an hour afterwards, they will fear they have been 
deceived. Cicero expresses the same thought still more clearly. 
Nescio quo modo, dum lego, assentior ; cum posui librum et 1 
mecum ipse ccepi cogitare, assensio omnis ilia elabitur. Pas- 
cal argues further, that this kind of proof can lead only to a 



BLAISE PASCAL. 413 

( speculative knowledge of God, and to know him in this man- 
ner is nearly as bad as to be entirely ignorant of him. In 
order to know God like a Christian, man must become ac- 
quainted with the misery of his own condition, his unworthi- 
ness, and his need of a mediator. These truths must not be 
separated, or they will become not only useless, but injurious. 
" To know God, without being aware of our own misery, gives 
birth to pride ; to be conscious of our own wretchedness, with- 
out any knowledge of Jesus Christ, leads to despair. The 
knowledge of the Saviour exempts us both from pride and de- 
spair ; for in him we find God, and the secret of our miserable 
state and the means of rising above it." We must become ac- 
quainted with human things, he adds, before loving them ; 
but we must love divine things, in order to know them. 

It is obvious, that Pascal's intention was to create the state 
of mind which is necessary for the due reception of religious 
truth, before offering any arguments in direct support of that 
truth. He seeks first to humble the pride of the intellect, to 
point out the enigmas and inconsistencies of our nature, its 
greatness and feebleness, its pride and abjectness, to convince 
mankind of their degraded and corrupt condition, and then to 
show, in the sublime mysteries of Christian faith, at once an 
explanation of their fallen state, a solace for their sufferings in 
this world, and a glorious hereafter. " Every one," he says, 
" must take his side, and range himself in the ranks either 
of Pyrrhonism or dogmatism ; for he who thinks to remain 
neuter will be a Pyrrhonist par excellence ; this neutrality is 
the very essence of Pyrrhonism." But the difficulty of mak- 
ing the choice is great ; for " reason confutes the dogmatists, 
and nature confounds the sceptics ; we have an incapacity of 
'demonstration, which the former cannot overcome ; we have 
a conception of truth, which the latter cannot disturb." Thus 
bandied about between opposing difficulties, constantly urged 
to continue a pursuit which can never be successful, man is 
disappointed, helpless, and miserable, unless light come to 
him from heaven, and an almighty arm be stretched out for his 
aid. 

" Man," he observes, " has a secret instinct, that leads him to seek 
diversion and employment from without ; this springs from the con- 



414 BLAISE PASCAL. 

sciousness of his continual misery. He has another secret impulse, 
remaining from the grandeur of his primitive state, which teaches him 
that happiness can exist only in repose. And from these two con- 
trary instincts, there arises in him an obscure idea, concealed in the 
depths of the soul, that prompts him to seek repose through agitation, 
and even to fancy that the contentment he does not enjoy will yet be 
found, if by struggling still a little longer he can open the door to rest. 
Thus passes his whole life. He seeks for repose by contending 
against certain obstacles ; and when he has surmounted them, repose 
itself becomes insupportable." 

The book is so incomplete and fragmentary, that it is very 
difficult to select passages which will give a fair view of the 
drift of his remarks, or the general characteristics of his man- 
ner. His language, also, from its remarkable compression 
and terseness, hardly admits of being translated without los- 
ing most of its vigor. But the following extract may give 
some idea of his power of thought and utterance. 

" Let not man confine his view simply to the objects which sur- 
round him ; let him contemplate all nature in its lofty and entire 
majesty ; let him consider the great orb set like an ever-burning 
beacon to illumine the universe ; let the earth appear to him like a 
point, in comparison with the vast circle which this luminary seems 
to describe ; let him wonder that this vast orbit is itself but a delicate 
point, when compared with that of the stars which roll in the firma- 
ment. If our sight stops here, the imagination passes beyond. The 
intellect ceases to conceive, before nature fails to supply. All that 
we see of the universe is but a spot imperceptibly small in the ample 
bosom of nature. No idea approaches the extent of infinite space. 
In vain would we dilate our conceptions ; we image to ourselves only 
atoms, in comparison with the reality. It is an infinite sphere, of 
which the centre is everywhere, and the circumference nowhere. 
And it is one of the most striking marks of the omnipotence of God, 
that our imagination is lost in this thought. 

"And now, returning to himself, let him consider what man is, in 
comparison with all that is ; let him look upon himself as lost in this 
by-corner of nature ; and from the appearance of this little dungeon 
in which he is lodged — this visible world — let him learn to estimate 
himself, and the cities and kingdoms of this earth, at their true value. 
.... In truth, what is man in the midst of nature ? A cipher in 
respect to the infinite, and all in comparison with nonentity, — a mean 



BLAISE PASCAL. 415 

betwixt nothing and all. He is infinitely far removed from the two 
extremes ; and his being is not less distant from the nothingness 
whence he was drawn, than from the infinite in which he is ingulfed. 
In the order of intelligent things, his intellect holds the same rank 
that his body does in the expanse of nature ; all that he can do is to 
discern some phenomena from the midst of things, in eternal despair 
of ever knowing their beginning or their end. All things came from 
nothing, and extend even to the infinite. Who can follow this as- 
tonishing progress ? The author of these marvels understands them ; 
to all others they are unintelligible. We burn with desire to know 
everything v and to build a tower which shall rise even to the heavens. 
But our whole edifice cracks, and the earth opens beneath us even to 
the abyss." 

With this striking picture of the insignificance and weak- 
ness of man, contrast the following sublime reflection upon 
his grandeur as a thinking soul. " Man is the feeblest branch 
of nature, but it is a branch that thinks. It is not necessary 
that the whole universe should rise in arms to crush him. A 
vapor, a drop of water, is enough to kill him. But if the 
universe should crush him, he would still be nobler than that 
which causes his death ; for he knows that he is dying, and 
the universe knows nothing of its power over him." It is in 
view of contrarieties like these, that Pascal exclaims, "What 
an enigma, then, is man ! What a strange, chaotic, and con- 
tradictory being ! Judge of all things, feeble earthworm, de- 
positary of the truth, mass of uncertainty, glory and butt of 
the universe, — if he boasts himself, I abase him ; if he hum- 
bles himself, I make my boast of him ; and I always contra- 
dict him, till he comprehends that he is an incomprehensible 
monster." 

The great doctrine of the book, to which most of the pre- 
ceding illustrations are subservient, is the duty of the entire 
submission of human reason in matters of faith. To this pre- 
cept the writer recurs again and again, and seems never to be 
weary of inculcating it. Unquestionably it is a great truth, 
but a most perilous one to define and apply. He admits, that 
" reason alone can tell where reason ends." The humility of 
his spirit in enforcing this dogma appears the more remarka- 
ble, when contrasted with his singular boldness and indepen- 



416 BLAISE PASCAL. 

dence of thought upon all other topics. On all matters of 
scientific inquiry, his resistance to the weight of authority, 
and his assertion of the right of private judgment, is one of 
the most striking traits of his genius. " Truth," he says, " is 
the most ancient of all things, — older than all the opinions 
that have been had of it ; whatever aspect antiquity may 
present, truth, however lately discovered, ought always to 
have the advantage over it; it is gross ignorance to imagine 
that nature began to be, when it began to be known." His 
success in refuting the old scholastic doctrine of nature's ab- 
horrence of a vacuum probably strengthened this indepen- 
dence of mind, and led him to dwell upon it with more ear- 
nestness. His fine remark, in speaking of the weight due to 
authority, that the ancients after all were only the children 
among mankind, has been so often cited without giving him 
credit for it, that it is worth while to quote it in his own 
words, though with considerable abridgment. 

" Animals make no progress. The hexagonal cells of bees were 
as accurately measured and finished a thousand years ago, as they are 
at the present day. It is not so with man, who is born for eternity. 
He is ignorant at first, but constantly acquires knowledge, not only 
from his own experience, but from the accumulated wisdom of his 
predecessors. Men are now very nearly in the same condition that 
the ancient philosophers would have arrived at, if they could have 
lived till our times, constantly adding to their knowledge what they 
might have acquired by study during so many centuries. All the 
generations of men during so -many ages ought to be considered only 
as one man, who lives forever, and is continually learning. Hence, 
how improper it is to respect philosophers for their antiquity ! For 
as old age is the period farthest removed from infancy, who does not 
see, that the old age of this universal man ought not to be sought for 
in the years nearest to his birth, but in those most remote from it ? 
Those whom we call the ancients were truly young in all things, and 
formed the infancy of mankind. As we have joined to their knowl- 
edge the experience of the ages which came after them, it is in us 
that this antiquity is to be found which we are wont to revere in 
others." 

As Lord Bacon says nearly the same thing, it is not un- 
likely that Pascal derived the first hint of it from the writings 



BLAISE PASCAL. 417 

of the English philosopher ; which is a further proof of what 
we have already had reason to suspect, that he had profited 
by these writings in the earlier part of his career. 

Only this submissive and child-like spirit in religious inquiry 
could have retained the otherwise bold and inquisitive intel- 
lect of Pascal in bondage to the Romish Church. This frame 
of mind may be partially accounted for by his experience in 
the Jansenist controversy, which had led him to put great 
stress upon the distinction between the droit and the fait, be- 
tween questions of doctrine and matters of fact. He was thus 
induced blindly to accept whatever was taught by the Fathers 
and the Councils, while he opposed with unflinching skepticism 
the doctrines of the Scholastic philosophy. He refers fre- 
quently to the Catholic doctrine respecting the eucharist, and 
the Calvinistic one of the transmission of sin, in illustration 
of his favorite theme, the incapacity of human nature to com- 
prehend religious truth. The following acute remark relates 
to the practice of auricular confession. 

" Is it not true, that we hate the truth and those who utter it to us, 
while we love those who practise pleasant deceptions upon us, and 
wish to be esteemed by them as different beings from what we are ? 
Here is a proof of it which shocks me. The Catholic religion does 
not require one to make known his sins indifferently to all the world ; 
it permits him to conceal them from the view of other men in general ; 
but it makes an exception in favor of one person, to whom it com- 
mands him to disclose the very depths of his heart, and to appear in 
his sight as he really is. There is but one man in the world whom it 
commands us thus to disabuse ; and it binds him to inviolable secrecy, 
so that this knowledge is in him as if it did not exist at all. Can we 
imagine anything more charitable and mild ? And yet, the corrup- 
tion of man is such, that he finds even this law too severe, and it is 
one of the principal reasons which have caused a great part of Europe 
to revolt against the Church. How unjust and unreasonable is the 
heart of man, to object to doing to one person what it would be only 
fair to do to all men ! For is it just that we should deceive them ? 
There are different degrees in this aversion to the truth ; but it may 
be said to exist in all in some measure ; for it is inseparable from self- 
love." 

This is very ingenious, but it is sophistical. We do not love 

27 



418 BLAISE PASCAL. 

nor practise deception as such, or for its own sake. "We de- 
test the flatterer, and cast him off as soon as his falsehood is 
exposed. We are pleased, indeed, when we learn that others 
entertain a good opinion of us ; but this is only a mark of the 
kindly sympathy which binds societies of men together. The 
avowal, whether true or false, of this opinion is a matter of no 
substantive importance ; it is the fact alone in which we are 
interested ; if thoroughly convinced of the existence of this 
opinion, we could very well dispense with the expression of it. 
We are reluctant to expose our faults, because unwilling to 
fall in the estimation of our friends, or to afford matter of 
triumph to our enemies ; but concealment is not prized for its 
own sake, nor from any wish to deceive. We fear ungenerous 
and harsh constructions ; if the fault could be made known 
with all its palliating circumstances, and thus seem as excusa- 
ble in the eyes of others as it appears in our own, its dis- 
closure would be a matter of comparative indifference. Some 
feelings, also, though perfectly innocent, are sensitive, and fear 
the light ; we conceal them, certainly without any conscious- 
ness of wrong, or any possibility of injurious deception. 

We have no space to carry any farther our analysis of this 
remarkable book, which such competent judges as Dr. Ar- 
nold have ranked among the " greatest masterpieces of hu- 
man genius." Our remarks, desultory and incomplete as the 
work itself, must end with the citation of a few more of the 
aphorisms, though much of their spirit necessarily escapes in a 
translation. Speaking of the Jewish Scriptures, Pascal ob- 
serves : — 

" I find no reason to doubt the truth of a book which contains all 
these things ; for there is a great difference between a book which a 
person makes and throws among a people, and a book which of itself 
makes a people. We cannot doubt that the book is at least as old as 
the people." 

" Between us and heaven, hell or annihilation, there is only human 
life, which of all things in the world is the frailest." 

" When we would show any one that he is mistaken, our best course 
is to observe on what side he considers the subject; for his view of it 
is generally right on this side, and admit to him, that he is right so 
far. He will be satisfied with this acknowledgment, that he was not 



BLAISE PASCAL. 419 

wrong in his judgment, but only inadvertent in not looking at the 
whole of the case. For we are less ashamed of not having seen the 
whole, than of being deceived in what we do see ; and this may per- 
haps arise from an impossibility of the understanding being deceived 
in what it does see, just as the perceptions of the senses, as such, 
must always be true." 

" Nature has its perfections, to show that it is the image of God, 
and its faults, to show that it is only his image." 

" Unbelievers are the most credulous persons in the world ; they be- 
lieve the miracles of Vespasian [and of animal magnetism], in order 
not to believe those of Moses." 

" The multitude which cannot be reduced to unity is confusion ; and 
the unity which does not depend on multitude is tyranny." 

"The synagogue did not perish, because it was a type of the 
church ; but as it was only a type, it fell into servitude. The symbol 
existed until the reality appeared, in order that the church might al- 
ways be visible, either in the image which foreshadowed it, or in 
reality." 

" What can be more ridiculous and vain than the doctrine of the 
Stoics, and what more baseless than their whole reasoning ? They 
conclude, that what a man can sometimes do, he can always do ; and 
because the desire of glory enables those who are actuated by it to 
accomplish something noble, that others will be able to do as much. 
Theirs are the convulsive efforts of a man in a fever, which one in 
health cannot imitate." 

" I cannot pardon Descartes. It was his ambition, in his system of 
philosophy, to be able to do without God altogether; but he was 
obliged to suppose the Deity gave the world a fillip in order to set it 
in motion ; after which there was nothing more for him to do." 

" We are not to suppose that Plato and Aristotle always wore their 
long robes, and appeared as dignified and serious personages. They 
were good-natured persons, who enjoyed a laugh with their friends, 
like the rest of the world ; and when they wrote upon legislation and 
politics, it was only by way of enjoying themselves and seeking diver- 
sion. This was the least philosophical and the least serious portion 
of their lives ; the most philosophical part of it was when they lived 
most simply and tranquilly." 

" The virtue of a man ought not to be measured by his great efforts, 
but by his ordinary conduct." 

" If we dreamed every night the same thing, it would affect us as 
much perhaps as the objects which we see every day. If an artisan 
was sure of dreaming every night, for twelve hours, that he was a 



420 BLAISE PASCAL. 

king, I believe he would be nearly as happy as a king who should 
dream every night, for twelve hours, that he was an artisan. If we 
dreamed every night that we were pursued by enemies and harassed 
by terrible phantoms, while we passed every day in various occupa- 
tions, we should suffer nearly as much as if the dream were true, and 
should dread going to sleep, as we now dread to wake, from the fear 
of really falling into such misfortunes. In truth, these dreams would 
cause nearly as much suffering as the reality. But because dreams 
are very various and unlike each other, what we see in them affects 
us much less than what we see in our waking hours, on account of 
the continuity of events when we are awake ; this continuity, however, 
is not so fixed and constant as to be wholly free from change, though 
the scenes shift less suddenly and less frequently. Life is only a 
rather more constant dream." 



ESSAYS AND REVIEWS: 

THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 

FROM THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW FOR JANUARY, 1861. 

The publication of " Essays and Reviews " is a strange and 
even a startling event. But it is startling not so much from 
the nature of its contents, as from the character and position 
of its authors. Certainly there is nothing new or deserving 
of especial notice, either in a studied attack upon the author- 
ity and truthfulness of large portions of the Bible, or in a 
scornful depreciation of the Evidences, and a denial of many of 
the fundamental doctrines, of Christianity ; or in a bold and 
dogmatic assertion that any supernatural event whatever, and 
therefore any special and immediate revelation of God to man, 
is, in the present state of science, essentially incredible, what- 
ever may be the amount of apparent testimony in its favor. 
All this has been dinned into our ears so often that we have 
ceased to wonder, though not to grieve, at its repetition. And 
the argument has as little originality as the doctrine. There 
is little or nothing in this volume which is not already familiar 
to those who are acquainted with the writings of the English 
Deists of the last century, with the speculations of Hume and 
the later German metaphysicians, and with the doctrines of 
those physicists, belonging to the school of Comte, who have 
attempted to limit the study of nature to an observation of the 
laws of phenomena, rigidly excluding all inquiries into their 
efficient or final cause as unscientific and useless. 

But if not entirely unprepared to hear these sceptical argu- 
ments and sceptical conclusions repeated by clergymen, we did 
not expect their revival at the seat of orthodoxy by dignitaries 
of the English Church and officials of high standing in the 
University of Oxford. The title-page, with studied brevity 



422 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS : 

and reticence, contains only these words, " Essays and Re- 
views," with the usual imprint by the publisher. But from 
the table of contents and from other sources, we learn that, of 
the seven writers in the volume, two are Professors at Oxford, 
and three others are, or have recently been Fellows and Tutors 
at that ancient University, one of them being a chaplain in 
ordinary to the Queen and a successor of Dr. Arnold as head- 
master of Rugby School. A sixth, Dr. Williams, now vice- 
principal and Professor at St. David's College, was recently 
Fellow and Tutor of King's College at Cambridge. Of the 
seventh, Mr. Goodwin, we know nothing except that he is a 
graduate of Cambridge, and was recently a Fellow in one of its 
colleges. All but one are clergymen, and most of them hold 
benefices in the English Church. [One of them, Dr. Temple, 
is now (1880) a bishop in the English Church.] A prefatory 
note contains the usual caution in the case of a joint publica- 
tion, that the authors " are responsible for their respective arti- 
cles only," and that they have written without concert or com- 
parison. No one will desire to push the responsibility beyond 
the limit here indicated ; but in this instance, as in the more 
famous one of the " Tracts for the Times," those who have 
joined in writing a series of articles upon the same general sub- 
ject, to be published together as one work, must be presumed 
to harmonize with one another, in the main, in their opinions 
and purposes. This presumption is borne out by the contents 
of the several essays when examined separately. Each has its 
peculiarities, but there is a general agreement among them in 
the purport and tendency of the doctrines which they teach. 
In short, the book must be regarded as the manifesto of a 
new school in philosophy and theology, which has sprung up 
chiefly at Oxford, though it finds adherents at Cambridge also, 
and which probably owes its origin to a reaction against the 
famous " Tracts," as it certainly rivals them in hardihood. 

We gladly admit, in the first place, that the tone of these 
Essays is, generally, unexceptionable in point of taste and de- 
corum. The doctrines which they controvert are treated with 
decency and respect. Scoffs and jeers are left for those who 
relish such condiments of controversy, and who cannot respect 
the feelings, the honest prejudices, it may be, of their oppo- 



THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 423 

nents. At any rate, if the weapons of ridicule and sarcasm are 
ever wielded, they are directed where their use is legitimate, 
— not against the main opinions which are assailed, but against 
the weak or sophistical arguments, or what are supposed to be 
such, that have been adduced in their support. We find once 
in a while a gibe at the Evidences of Christianity, but never at 
Christianity itself. This decorum we hope to imitate, by speak- 
ing with perfect freedom of the doctrines maintained in this 
volume, but with entire respect of its authors. Their conduct 
even in continuing to wear the robes and perform the functions 
of English clergymen demands to be treated with leniency ; 
the attempt to play the casuist upon such a point is one that 
carries its own punishment along with it, and needs no sharp 
reproof from others. 

One of the evils inseparable from the institution of the Chris- 
tian ministry as a distinct profession, and from the course of 
studies which is the necessary intellectual preparation for it, is, 
that it sometimes leads the neophyte to sceptical opinions. 
Especially is this the case in England, where the Church, 
viewed in its relations to the state, in its hierarchy, its system 
of patronage, and its large endowments, is a great political 
institution, which maintains its Holy Orders to some extent as 
indelible, which consequently prohibits those who enter its ser- 
vice from casting any look behind them, but which is still 
bound to uphold at least the appearance of free thought and 
inquiry as one of the leading principles of Protestantism, and 
as a part of the inalienable birthright of Englishmen. It is a 
part of the original perversity, if not of human nature in gen- 
eral, at least of many sensitive and delicate minds, that they 
no sooner see the great doors close behind them which cut off 
all retreat, than they are immediately tempted to quarrel with 
the discipline and arrangements of their new home. Egress 
is still possible, it is true, but only at a sacrifice of immediate 
welfare and long-cherished purposes, from which they shrink 
even with greater dislike than from the obligatory performance 
of their newly imposed functions. The teachings of their new 
mother become distasteful just as soon as she claims authority 
over them, and a right to determine their opinions and dispose 
of their time. If an earnest and heartfelt attachment to the 



424 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS : 

peculiar duties of their new position had always preceded the 
assumption of them, such mental revolt would be less frequent 
and less serious. But the Church offers a profession, a career 
in life, a subsistence, such as is offered by any of the other vo- 
cations to which educated men may turn ; and thus men are 
tempted into it from a mixture of motives, just as many 
enter into matrimony, with a hope that love will come at least 
after the indissoluble knot is tied. Of course, this hope is not 
always realized ; and then they quarrel with the knot rather 
than with the spouse. 

To minds of such a cast, and in such a state, the study of 
theology is apt to be rather injurious than beneficial. What 
they most need is a discipline of the heart and the affections, 
rather than of the intellect. The mind is in a morbid state 
of revolt against the new duties that have been laid upon it, 
and seeks occasion to question and controvert the authority 
that imposes them. Inquiry is begun with a bias in the wrong 
direction, with a predisposition rather to find or invent diffi- 
culties than to clear them away, and thus to justify the com- 
plaining and rebellious spirit in which the student commences 
his work. Too many enter upon a course of theological study 
in such a temper that scepticism is already with them a fore- 
gone conclusion. The inquiry is made to turn on some of the 
dark questions of metaphysics, or on the quibbles which may 
be raised against any point of history, whether sacred or pro- 
fane, by those who will accept no proof but that of demonstra- 
tion. The study of the Evidences is peevishly rejected, because 
the mind is really incapable of reasoning, and closed against 
conviction. The only effective medicine for such a perverted 
state of the intellect would be, to give up the study of theology 
altogether, or to postpone it till, by the practical exercises and 
duties of religion, the heart may be won back to the sacred 
profession, and the labor be resumed only when it has become 
a labor of love. To the theological student, far more frequently 
than to any other person, the question respecting any form of 
doctrine seems to concern its truth alone. He asks only, "Is 
it true ? " Others ask, " Is it fitting, instructive, consolatory, 
or elevating ? Does it harmonize with my conscience in re- 
proving me of sin, or does it aid me in striving after holi- 



THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 425 

ness?" He judges the doctrine by its antecedent evidence, 
as a matter of science ; they try it by its results, as a matter 
of life and conduct. The worst result of the inquiry, in the 
former case, is scepticism ; in the other, it is only neglect or 
indifference. 

Of course, we do not mean that the systematic study of 
theology is generally harmful, but only that it will do more 
harm than good to those who have previously quarrelled with 
their religious profession. However it may be accounted for, 
the fact itself hardly admits of question, that, in proportion to 
their respective numbers, there is more scepticism among the 
clergy than among the laity. Hence, the ministrations of the 
Church do not effect half as much good as they would other- 
wise accomplish in the world at large. Affliction, anxiety, 
or remorse stirs and softens the religious affections, and begets 
a craving for sympathy, counsel, and support. The most im- 
portant office of a Christian pastor is, to minister to minds in 
such a state. But what aid or consolation can he bring, whose 
own faith has been previously shaken or perverted ? How 
can he offer or counsel prayer, who does not believe in its 
efficacy, or thinks that its power is exhausted upon the mind 
of the utterer, and that it is not heard and answered in 
heaven ? How can he urge resignation under calamity as a 
duty of submission to God, when he believes in the fatalistic 
succession of all events under physical laws, and consequently 
rejects, as essentially incredible, the doctrine of Divine inter- 
position ? How can he aid in robbing death of its terrors, 
who does not believe in immortality, except in some incompre- 
hensible phase of the reunion of the finite with the infinite, 
or who maintains that eternity hereafter means only eternity 
here and now f Yet such are the cold and vague speculations 
which the clerical writers of this book would substitute for 
the vital doctrines of Christianity. Among the other criteria 
of theological opinions, why did they never think of applying 
this practical test, — How will my version of the dogma work 
as a means of elevating the faith and purifying the lives of the 
people of my own parish ? 

The first Essay in the volume, on " The Education of the 
World," is one of those fanciful exercises of the intellect 



426 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS: 

which consist rather in playing with a metaphor, or hunting 
a similitude to death, than in the sober and conscientious 
evolution of a truth. 1 All those points in regard to which 
the parallel holds are brought into prominent and even ex- 
aggerated relief, while those on which it fails, generally more 
numerous, are either explained away to the perversion of the 
truth, or are kept altogether out of sight. Such speculations 
are seldom more than half true ; and half-truths, because more 
insidious, do greater harm than whole falsehoods. Dr. Tem- 
ple, borrowing his whole doctrine from Lessing, begins by 
assuming, that, as each generation of men inherits the knowl- 
edge, and enters into possession of the works, of its prede- 
cessor, the whole human race is in fact u a colossal man, 
whose life reaches from the creation to the day of judgment." 
This is a very pretty idea to play with, and the fancy is in- 
geniously carried out with a careful selection of such facts of 
history, and such only, as can, with a little paring and shap- 
ing, be dovetailed into it. The successive generations of men 
" are days in this man's life ; " the discoveries and inventions 
of all time " are his works ; " the successive states of society 
"are his manners; " and, what is most important, "the creeds 
and doctrines, the opinions and principles of the successive 
ages, are his thoughts." Sometimes, the writer's eagerness to 
carry out the similitude tempts him to make rather hazardous 
assertions, as when he tells us that this hypothetical aggre- 
gate man " grows in knowledge, in self-control, in visible size, 
just as we do." We had supposed that the facts tended rather 
to support the popular belief, which the poets also share, that 
the generations of men degenerate in strength and stature. 
The Head-Master of Rugby School, of course, remembers the 
husbandman, who, as Virgil predicts, — 

" Aut gravibus rastris galeas pulsabit inanes, 
Grandiaque effossis mirabitur ossa sepulchris." 

Modern Frenchmen appear remarkably puny when we read 

about the tall and athletic Gauls and Franks from whom they 

1 It ought in fairness to be mentioned, that Dr. Frederick Temple, the author 
of this Essay, when he was appointed Bishop of Exeter, in 1869, though he did 
not expressly renounce and recant the opinions here maintained, did withdraw 
the Essay from publication, on the ground, so far as I remember, that it was lia- 
ble to be misunderstood and to give offence. 



THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 427 

are descended ; and soldiers of our own day, encased in the 
bulky and weighty armor worn by mediaeval knights, would be 
about as efficient on the battle-field or the parade-ground as 
Goose Gibbie was, when half smothered and blinded in the big 
helmet. 

Following out the same train of fanciful speculation, we 
learn that each of the great races that have inhabited the earth 
had a distinct part to play in the education of the " monster- 
man," who acknowledges Dr. Temple as his Frankenstein. 
" Thus, the Hebrews may be said to have disciplined the hu- 
man conscience, Rome the human will, Greece the reason and 
taste, Asia the spiritual imagination." Has Dr. Temple for- 
gotten Egypt ? or does he consider the invention of the art of 
writing a step of no importance in the education of his com- 
posite man ? Greece certainly imported an alphabet, and the 
rudiments both of her art and her philosophy, from the East. 
No account is here taken of the Goths, and other barbaric 
races that issued from the hive of the populous North, though 
perhaps the character of the modern European owes more to 
them than to Greek art or Roman polity. A ripe scholar may 
be excused for forgetting, or contemptuously passing over, 
about three fourths of the human race, who are now, in al- 
most every respect, precisely what they would have been if 
Greece and Italy had subsided, as the geologists say, into the 
Mediterranean three thousand years ago. China is a consider- 
able nation, at least in point of numbers ; while the Buddhists 
form no inconsiderable fraction of the colossal modern man. 
Even Africa must be taken into account, unless our author is 
one of those specula tists who maintain that a negro is not a 
man. As for the Hebrews disciplining the conscience of the 
nations farther East, one of the writers in this very volume 
maintains that the Jews were indebted to the Babylonians 
even for the doctrine of the immortality of the soul. 

But it would be a waste of time and labor to pick utterly to 
pieces a slight essay, which seems to have been prepared as an 
exercise of the fancy, rather than of the intellect, if the author 
had not made it a vehicle for insinuating his grave opinions 
upon a theological subject of the highest importance. The 
only serious purpose which we can discover in this treatise is 



428 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS : 

to teach the important fact — important, if true — that the 
world has already outgrown Christianity, As already stated, 
" the creeds and doctrines " of successive ages are represented 
as " the thoughts " of the monster-man, who " grows in knowl- 
edge and self-control," as he undergoes an education " pre- 
cisely similar to ours." There are three stages in this train- 
ing, corresponding to Childhood, Youth, and Maturity. In 
the first of these, we are subject to Law, — " to positive rules, 
which we cannot understand, but are bound implicitly to 
obey." This answers to the system of Moses, and was the 
education of the Hebrew race. Commands of grave and 
trifling import are all mingled together, clear but peremptory 
in tone, regulating even the minutest particulars of food and 
dress. " But the reason for the minute commands is never 
given;" the people hear only the solemn announcement, 
" Thus saith the Lord." Other nations also had a training 
parallel to the Jewish, through their respective systems of 
natural religion. These " were all in reality systems of Laiv, 
given also by God, though not given by revelation," and after- 
wards so distorted as to lose nearly all trace of their divine 
origin. Such, in fact, is the necessary discipline of Childhood, 
whether of the individual or of the race. 

Then Youth comes fiery and impetuous, breaking loose from 
all rules, and refusing to be guided except by Example. " He 
needs to see virtue in the concrete." " He repeats opinions 
without really understanding them ; " and when seemingly 
most independent and defiant of external guidance, he is 
really, only so much the more, guided and formed by the ex- 
ample and sympathy of others. And such an Example for 
the guidance of humanity, in its youth, was set forth in the 
Gospel. " The second stage for the education of man was the 
presence of our Lord upon earth." 

Fortunate was it for the world, according to Dr. Temple, 
that His coming was not delayed till now ; " for the faculty of 
Faith has turned inwards, and cannot now accept any outer 
manifestations of the truth of God." The third period of his- 
tory, the Manhood of the race, with its largely developed pow- 
ers and responsibilities, has come. The age of maturity and 
reflection has begun. We cannot now accept, either Law from 



THE OXFOED CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 429 

the Old Testament, or an Example from the New. The spirit 
or conscience has assumed its dominion, and " as an accredited 
judge, invested with full powers, decides upon the past and 
legislates upon the future, without appeal except to himself." 
" If we have lost that freshness of faith which would be the 
first to say to a poor carpenter, ' Thou art the Christ, the Son 
of the Living God,' — yet we possess, in the greater cultivation 
of our religious understanding, that which, perhaps, we ought 
not to be zvilling to give in exchange.'''' The concluding sentence 
of the Essay contains the emphatic statement, that " we are 
now men, governed by principles, if governed at all, and can- 
not rely any longer on the impulses of youth or the discipline 
of childhood." 

Evidently this doctrine is only a modification of the Posi- 
tive Philosophy of Comte, and was probably suggested by it. 
Comte teaches us, that there are three natural and necessary 
stages in the development both of the individual and of the 
race. In the earliest period, we attribute all movements and 
other phenomena to unseen personal agencies, that is, to 
Deities ; we are then theologians, and believe in the supernat- 
ural. Next comes the vigorous but lawless condition, when 
we substitute abstractions, or what are called " the forces of 
nature," in the place of imaginary Deities existing beyond or 
above nature. This is the metaphysical stage, which confounds 
imaginary conceptions with realities, or substitutes names for 
things. At last, the mature age of Positive Science arrives, 
when, to say the truth, we believe in nothing, neither in Deities 
nor in abstract forces, but accept the phenomena only, and 
content ourselves with describing and classifying them, all 
attempts to discover their causes being renounced as a hope- 
less undertaking. Dr. Temple's theory is a modified form of 
Positivism, and, we think, an improvement upon it. He car- 
ries forward theological belief from the first into the second 
stage, and even makes the religious discipline of Youth more 
impressive and affecting than that of Childhood. But the third 
period is equally destructive of faith in the supernatural on 
either theory. At this epoch, says Dr. Temple, borrowing 
almost exactly the language of Comte, man " learns not to 
attempt the solution of insoluble problems, and to have no 



430 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS: 

opinion at all on many points of the deepest interest." Ex- 
ternal revelation, even if it could be believed in, would no 
longer have any binding power ; the only law which we can 
accept is " a law which is not imposed upon us by another 
power, but by our own enlightened will." 

An answer is hardly needed to sophistry so transparent. 
The law is first given in its simple or peremptory form, be- 
cause, even if reasons were annexed, a child's intellect could 
not understand them. The subsequent development of the 
understanding, which leads to a recognition of the intrinsic 
beauty and righteousness of the precept, does not thereby 
abrogate it, but only increases its obligation. The Gospel did 
not annul the law. Christ himself says, " Think not that I 
am come to destroy the law or the prophets ; I am not come to 
destroy, but to fulfil." The Jews were at first peremptorily 
commanded to abstain from idolatry, — reasons for this prohi- 
bition being unsuited to their understandings, and insufficient 
to break the force of their own early habits, and the example 
of surrounding nations. But certainly the obligation of this 
law did not cease when the Jews became enlightened enough 
to recognize the folly and wickedness of worshipping sticks 
and stones, and were thereby thoroughly weaned from the 
practice. Only to the Gentile converts (Acts xv. 19, 20) did 
the Apostles need to write, " that they abstain from pollutions 
of idols ; " and for them, as well as for the Hebrews, the spirit 
of the injunction was carried farther, by commanding them to 
abstain even from meats offered to idols, and from " covetous- 
ness, which is idolatry." Here, as in other cases, the spirit 
of the law is not abrogated, but is made still more compre- 
hensive, even when there is some relaxation of the outward 
form. Our Saviour did not repeal the Decalogue, but repeated 
it and forcibly summed up its spirit in two broad injunctions, 
rightly adding, " On these two commandments hang all the 
law and the prophets." It was only carrying out the same 
method to substitute prayer for sacrifice, giving alms to the 
poor for offering gifts in the temple, and observing the Lord's 
day in place of the Jewish Sabbath ; for the same spirit of 
heartfelt adoration of the Giver of all good, and of self-denial 
and beneficence, lies at the bottom of all these commands. 



THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 431 

Least of all does maturity of age and intellect supersede 
the necessity of an external revelation in the sense of render- 
ing man independent of it, of doing away with its injunc- 
tions, or of substituting the promptings of his own heart and 
conscience for a message from on high. The sinless Example is 
still placed before us, not indeed in the flesh, but in the record 
of his life, death, and resurrection. If, as Dr. Temple thinks, 
we could not now recognize the Saviour's claims, even if he 
should appear again on the earth, and again, before our own 
eyes, waken a Lazarus out of his sleep, then we cannot acknowl- 
edge that he ever did come in the flesh, or that the grave, at his 
bidding, ever gave up its dead. If that " greater cultivation 
of our religious understanding," which this Essayist would 
have us believe is of more worth than faith in the Son of God, 
has been the natural result of man's own efforts continued for 
centuries, then an external revelation was never needed, and 
we cannot believe that one has ever taken place. But if this 
cultivation, this refinement of our religious perceptions, has 
been brought about only by the study of the Gospel, and by 
the deeper insight into its meaning which the experience of 
many generations and the enlarged culture of modern times 
are competent to give, then this very improvement is a new 
proof of the Divinity of the Christian revelation and the au- 
thenticity of its record. 

But after all, even in Dr. Temple's own opinion, when he 
seriously reflects upon the matter, how large a portion of man- 
kind, at the present day, have actually outgrown Christianity ? 
Are missions to the heathen no longer needed, because even 
the heathen of our own time, standing upon the shoulders of 
all the generations that have preceded them, are so enlight- 
ened and refined in their notions of natural theology that the 
Gospel would be no boon to them ? Even among the nations 
of Christendom, how many, both in understanding and in con- 
duct, have already got beyond the Sermon on the Mount ? 
Do even the English agricultural and manufacturing classes 
no longer need religious instruction, because they have at last 
become a perfect law unto themselves ? We would not ask 
these questions by way of taunt, being well aware that Dr. 
Temple's answer to them would assuredly be the same as our 



432 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS: 

own. But they may serve to open his eyes to the illusion, 
natural enough, perhaps, for a recluse student, but still gross, 
which makes one man fancy himself empowered to speak for 
all mankind, and to pronounce that the Gospel is obsolete for 
the whole race, because half a dozen scholars at Oxford and 
Cambridge think that they have outgrown Christianity. 

The next Essayist, Dr. Williams, takes " Bunsen's Biblical 
Researches " for his theme, and thus shelters himself, in part, 
behind the authority of a great German scholar and diplomat- 
ist. He cautiously informs us in the outset, that " the sympa- 
thy which justifies respectful exposition need not imply entire 
agreement." Perfect candor and frankness, however, would 
seem to require that the precise limits of agreement and dis- 
sent should be marked out by an expositor who eulogizes both 
the doctrine and the author that he expounds so warmly, that 
his enthusiasm cannot find strength of expression enough in 
sober prose, but breaks out finally into lofty verse. There is 
not much poetry in the two stanzas which are appended to 
Dr. Williams's article ; but they indicate clearly enough what 
qualities of Bunsen's writings and opinions have excited the 
writer's special admiration. 

Every scholar will speak with entire respect of Bunsen's vast 
erudition, his indefatigable activity, and the earnest religious 
feeling, at times assuming the garb of pietistic mysticism, with 
which many of his writings are tinged. But a more rash and 
unsafe guide, in any province of speculative inquiry which re- 
quires the exercise of sober judgment and vigorous common- 
sense, could hardly be found, even in Germany. He is a wild 
and fanciful theorist in archaeology, philosophy, and theology, 
whose conclusions have ceased to startle and perplex only be- 
cause sober inquirers are prepared for them beforehand, and 
pass them over with charitable indifference. His books are an 
infliction on human patience, both in their voluminousness, and 
the entire want of method, symmetry, and continuity in their 
contents. But they generally contain a mine of valuable ma- 
terials, which sober investigators can work to profit, and digest 
into system. Wherever great learning is not needed as the 
handmaid of reason, because the subject of inquiry lies not far 
off in the dim past, but comes home directly to the common 



THE OXFOED CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 433 

understanding, Bunsen's opinions have no peculiar weight or 
claim to deference. As an expositor of the doctrines of Chris- 
tianity, certainly, he is not likely to find many English or 
American disciples besides Dr. Williams. 

It is admitted, in this Essay, that the " recognition of Christ 
as the moral Saviour of mankind," whereby is meant the de- 
velopment by him of " that religious idea which is the thought 
of the Eternal," may seem to some "Baron Bunsen's most 
obvious claim to the name of Christian." We are not ac- 
countable for the perspicuity of this remark ; and the saga- 
cious reader may already have cause to suspect, that the Ger- 
man diplomatist's cloudiness of thought will not be dissipated 
to any great extent by his English expositor's clearness of ex- 
pression. But the general meaning of the admission seems 
to be, that many Christian doctrines, as expounded by Bunsen, 
will seem to common observers not to bear any distinct traces 
of their Christian origin. This we can well believe, when fur- 
ther informed that, " by Resurrection," Bunsen would mean 
" a spiritual quickening ; " and that " the eternal is what be- 
longs to God as spirit, therefore the negation of things finite 
and unspiritual, whether world, or letter, or rite of blood." 
The hateful fires of Gehenna " may serve as images of dis- 
tracted remorse ; " and heaven is " not a place, so much as 
fulfilment of the love of God." Already the doctrine of an- 
other life and a final retribution beyond the grave seems to be 
pretty effectually refined and spiritualized away. But that no 
doubt may remain on the point, we are further informed that 
" both spiritual affection and metaphysical reasoning forbid 
us to confine revelations, like those of Christ, to the first half- 
century of our era ; " and that the external evidences' of the 
books of the New Testament are " sufficient to prove illustra- 
tion in outward act of principles perpetually true, but not 
adequate to guarantee narratives inherently incredible, or pre- 
cepts evidently wrong." Here is a lack of candor. Why does 
not Dr. Williams distinctly inform us what narratives in the 
New Testament are " inherently incredible," and what pre- 
cepts are " evidently wrong ? " Does he include among the 
former the narrative of miraculous events, even of our Lord's 
resurrection from the dead ? He has no word of censure when 

28 



434 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS: 

he quotes Bunsen's passionate exclamation, "How long shall 
we bear this fiction of an external revelation ! " though he ad- 
mits, " there will be some who think his language too vehement 
for good taste." But then he will not quarrel " on points of 
taste with a man who, in our darkest perplexity, has reared 
again the banner of truth, and uttered thoughts which give 
courage to the weak and sight to the blind." 

Most instructive respecting the real purport of Bunsen's 
philosophical and theological opinions is his version of the doc- 
trine of the Trinity, which his English disciple sets forth and 
accepts, seemingly without any suspicion of its true paternity. 
Here we must copy literally. 

" His [Bunsen's] doctrine of the Trinity ingeniously avoids build- 
ing on texts which our Unitarian critics, from Sir Isaac Newton to 
Gilbert Wakefield, have impugned, but is a philosophical rendering of 
the first chapter of St. John's Gospel. The profoundest analysis of 
our world leaves the law of thought as its ultimate basis and bond of 
coherence. This thought is consubstantial with the Being of the 
Eternal I AM. Being, becoming, and animating, — or substance, 
thinking, and conscious life, are expressions of a Triad; which may be 
also represented as will, wisdom, and love, — as light, radiance, and 
warmth, — as fountain, stream, and united flow, — as mind, thought, 
and consciousness, — as person, word, and life, — as Father, Son, and 
Spirit. In virtue of such identity of Thought with Being, the primi- 
tive Trinity represented neither three original principles, nor three 
transient phases, but three eternal subsistences in one Divine Mind. 
' The unity of God, as the eternal Father, is the fundamental doctrine 
of Christianity.' But the divine Consciousness or Wisdom, consub- 
stantial with the Eternal Will, becoming personal in the Son of Man, 
is the express image of the Father ; and Jesus actually, but also man- 
kind ideally, is the Son of God." 

" All this," Dr. Williams confesses, " has a Sabellian, or al- 
most a Brahmanical sound." Brahmanical, indeed ! Why it 
is pure and explicit Hegelianism, which our English Essayist 
has been expounding and recommending, just as Moliere's 
Bourgeois had all his life talked prose, without knowing it. 
He challenges his more orthodox brethren in the English 
Qhurch to confute it " even on patristic grounds," adopting 
blindly Bunsen's rash assertion, that this doctrine, or some- 






THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 435 



thing very like it, may be found in Justin Martyr, Tertullian, 
Hippolytus, and Origen ; and he throws out the significant 
menace, " If our defenders of the faith would have men believe 
the doctrine of the Trinity, they had better not forbid meta- 
physics, nor even sneer at Realism." Dr. Williams is evi- 
dently not aware of the peculiar adroitness of interpretation, 
which enables a practised Hegelian to recognize the express 
form and likeness — the vera effigies — of his much loved doc- 
trine everywhere, — not only in the Bible, the Fathers, and the 
decrees of Councils, but in every form of religion that has ever 
existed on earth, in every system of philosophy, and in every 
page of history. Only allow him his boasted postulates, that 
Thought and Being are identical ; that whatever is Real is 
Rational, and whatever is Rational is Real ; and that the first 
principle of Logic and the fundamental law of human thought, 
which declares that two Contradictories exclude each other, is 
false, inasmuch as any two Contradictories actually coalesce 
and melt into one doctrine or being which includes them both ; 
— only allow these modest demands, and he will point out 
Hegelianism everywhere that he chooses to look for it. In the 
passage which we have just cited, every one who has any tinct- 
ure of the latest German philosophy of the Absolute will rec- 
ognize at once the characteristics of the Hegelian logic and of 
the doctrine evolved from it. It will enable any Unitarian 
who pleases to become a Trinitarian without difficulty, so that 
he can repeat the most orthodox formulas, the Athanasian 
Creed itself, without stammering. A triad exists wherever 
two contradictories or opposites can be found ; for the law of 
trichotomy, which is the law absolute, the law of laws in the 
Hegelian logic, enables us to take up the two contradictory 
ideas, the thesis and the antithesis, and melt them into one syn- 
thetic notion, which includes them both. Thus, pure Being, 
as wholly indeterminate or devoid of attributes, is identical 
with its opposite, Non-being or Nothing. But as creation con- 
sists in nothing heeoming something, the third member of the 
triad, which reduces the two other members to unity, is becom- 
ing, or determinate existence. Now, as Thought and Reality 
are identical, each being the law and essence of the other, 
any one who can think creation does thereby create, or 5«- 



436 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS: 

comes the Creator. Hegel's philosophy consists in finding 
everywhere unity under contradiction, and identity under dif- 
ference. 

The application of this system to the leading dogmas of 
theology, to the Trinity, the Incarnation, and the Atonement, 
may be easily made ; but it leads to conclusions at once so 
monstrous and so shocking, that we prefer not to stain our 
pages with them. Their general character is darkly but suf- 
ficiently indicated in the citation just made from Dr. Williams's 
Essay ; and a full development of the doctrine, as applied to 
all the forms of religion that have ever existed among man- 
kind, may be found in Bunsen's latest work, " God in History," 
which has supplied the Essayist with all his materials. It is 
characteristic of this philosophy, that, whether used as a means 
of interpreting Buddhism, Greek polytheism, Hindoo or Scan- 
dinavian mythology, or Christianity, it leads to equally satis- 
factory results. A consistent and expert Hegelian may repeat 
any theological creed, and join in any religious rite. Differ- 
ences of faith are of little moment, when they are tried by a 
system of logic which was invented for the express purpose of 
reconciling contradictories. It is curious that Bunsen should 
have adopted the system just at the time when, even in Ger- 
many, it has become discredited and seems to be rapidly pass- 
ing away. After enjoying an unprecedented success, after 
coloring every form of German speculation in philosophy and 
theology for more than a quarter of a centuiw, a reaction has 
sprung up against it on its native soil, and appears to be now 
hurrying it into oblivion. On English ground it cannot hope 
to find many proselytes, though a few scholars like Dr. Will- 
iams may find in it the means of pacifying their scruples at 
repeating the formularies of the Church and continuing their 
implied assent to the Thirty-nine Articles. 

Of the next Essay, on " the Study of the Evidences of Chris- 
tianity," we must speak with the reserve which is rendered be- 
coming by the recent death of its author, the Rev. Baden Pow- 
ell. It is in some measure a repetition and a defence of the 
doctrines avowed in a late independent publication, by the 
same writer, on " the Order of Nature." The discussion in 
this Essay turns, not upon the old question, whether a reve- 



THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 437 

lotion can be 'proved by miracles, but upon the far deeper and 
more important one, whether Christianity, regarded as a sys- 
tem of abstract religious doctrine, cannot be received on faith, 
even by those who deny both the fact and the possibility of any 
external revelation whatever. 

This is at once a clear and a candid statement of the real 
point at issue. An external revelation is itself a miracle, the 
greatest of all miracles. It is a break in the order of nature, 
an interruption of the ordinary sequence of physical events, 
made by the Creator and Governor of the universe for the ex- 
press purpose of declaring His will to man in a more distinct 
utterance, and a more awful and impressive form, than would 
be possible if the ordinary succession of external phenomena 
remained unbroken. The miraculous attestation of Christ's 
mission upon earth, through the mighty works which he did, 
is one thing ; the miraculous character of that mission itself, 
the immediately divine origin both of the message and of him 
who bore it, is another. Those who, on the ground of the es- 
sential incredibility of any interruption of the laws of nature, 
deny the miracles that he wrought, are bound also to deny 
the miracle that he was. Even if Jesus of Nazareth had not 
been " approved of God among you by miracles, and wonders, 
and signs, which God did by him in the midst of you, as ye 
yourselves also know," yet his mere appearance upon earth, 
if he really possessed the character and authority which he 
claimed, — that is, if he was not an impostor, — was as great 
a miracle as if he had come in the clouds of heaven openly 
manifesting all the glory of the Father. 

This is the real bearing and extent of the question as Pro- 
fessor Powell has distinctly stated it, and he has shown much 
courage and frankness in so doing, and in openly taking up his 
own position respecting it with all its consequences. One ob- 
ject of his present Essay seems to be, to defend himself against 
the charge of going farther than other Rationalists, and thereby 
giving up all that is peculiar to Christianity. His answer is, 
that he has not gone farther ; for the ground which he has 
taken is contained by irresistible implication in the arguments 
and doctrines which they have avowed without any special 
censure. He says, and we cite the passage as he has himseli 



438 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS : 

italicized it, that " a considerable school have been disposed to 
look to the intrinsic evidence only, and to accept the declara- 
tions of the Gospel solely, on the ground of their intrinsic evi- 
dence and accordance with our best and highest moral and 
religious convictions ; " and he rightly affirms that the con- 
siderations thus adduced are " of a kind which affect the entire 
primary conception of i a revelation ' and its authority, and not 
merely any alleged external attestations of its truth." He also 
admits, that " the idea of a positive external Divine revela- 
tion of some kind has formed the very basis of all hitherto 
received systems of Christian belief." He charges " the pro- 
fessed advocates of an external revelation and historical evi- 
dence" with inconsistency, for occasionally "making their ap- 
peal to conscience and feeling, and decrying the use of reason ; " 
and he brings the same accusation of inconsistency against 
"the professed upholders of faith and internal conviction as 
the only sound basis of religion," because they nevertheless 
regard " the external facts as not less essential truth which it 
would be profane to question." His own doctrine is, that the 
essence of a religion is " the disclosure of spiritual truth as 
such," which must be received, if at all, on faith, and not on 
evidence. 

On this theory, evidently, the whole narrative of our Sav- 
iour's life must be rewritten, and even the scheme of Christian 
doctrine, so far as it relates to his peculiar nature and office, 
must be abandoned. The story of his miraculous birth is a 
fable; the mighty works that he did are incredible myths; and 
the sepulchre in which he was laid never gave up its dead, un- 
less, indeed, his disciples came by night and stole him away. 
The purely abstract and spiritual portion of the doctrine that 
he preached, apart from his assurances of a resurrection and a 
judgment to come, which are facts that no observation of the 
present laws of nature can warrant, must be received as true 
on the same grounds, and to the same extent, that we accept 
the teachings of Socrates ; namely, their accordance with our 
moral and religious instincts. We are not even at liberty so 
far to extend the domain of faith as to include the facts on ac- 
count o/the doctrine, though not as evidence for the doctrine ; 
that is, the creed must not embrace the resurrection, or any 



THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 439 

other miraculous occurrence, even though not relying upon it 
as an attestation of purely spiritual truth. For it is expressly 
taught, that " matters of clear and positive fact, investigated 
on critical grounds and supported by exact evidence, are prop- 
erly matters of knowledge, not of faith." 

But the great error of the Essayist results from the hopeless 
confusion of his ideas in respect to the true nature of physical 
causation. Sometimes, he seems to adopt the doctrine of the 
Positivists, that such causation is nothing but the uniformity 
of sequence which enables us to predict occurrences, but not 
to explain them, the very idea of efficient cause being, in their 
philosophy, a figment of bad metaphysics. Of course, he who 
denies efficient agency of any sort, must also deny supernatural 
agency ; but he does so at the expense of rejecting an original 
and irresistible law of the human mind, which declares that 
every change or beginning of existence must have an efficient 
cause, whether we can discover it or not. Then, again, the 
Essayist, unable to prove from mere induction the necessary 
and axiomatic truth, that no physical change whatever can 
take place " unless through the invariable operation of a series 
of eternally impressed consequences, following in some neces- 
sary chain of orderly connection," appears to attribute neces- 
sary and efficient causation to matter, and to deny voluntary 
causation to mind. He admits that " we continually behold 
lower laws held in restraint by higher, — mechanic by dynamic, 
chemical by vital ; " but he demurs to the third instance, 
because he " must remark in passing, that the meaning of 
'moral laws controlling physical' is not very clear." Why 
not ? Is not the conscious voluntary exertion, whereby I raise 
my arm, and thus support a weight that would otherwise fall, 
an indubitable case of moral and conscious force controlling or 
overriding, in a particular instance, the action of gravitation ? 
And is not the whole history of physical science one long record 
of the triumphs of moral and intelligent force over physical 
law, which is everywhere so bent, guided, and overruled by in- 
telligence, that it seems not so much man's master as his slave ? 
Certainly, in this respect, as in so many others, man is made 
in the likeness of his Creator ; as Lord Bacon truly says, 
"etiam inventa quasi novce creationes sunt, et divinorum 



440 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS : 

operum imitamenta." If the Essayist believes in a personal 
God, — and otherwise we have no argument with him, for we 
admit the atheist's perfect right to say that, to him, a miracle 
is a thing absolutely incredible, — then he must acknowledge, 
that the action of divine agency in suspending a law of nature 
is just as comprehensible and credible as that of human agency 
accomplishing a precisely similar result on a smaller scale. 
Slowly, after much study and effort, and often indirectly, man 
performs that which infinite power and wisdom does at once. 
Does the length or difficulty of the operation alter its essential 
nature ? The surgeon puts again into their proper shape and 
position the pieces of a bone which the relentless law of gravi- 
tation has crushed ; and if it be argued that he cannot cause 
the fragments to reunite, what is this but saying, that man 
performs a very small part of the cure, and a compassionate 
God does the rest ? Suppose that never since the world be- 
gan, save in one solitary instance, did the broken pieces of a 
bone thus reunite. Then this single instance would be a mira- 
cle, — a violation of a fixed law of nature, — and the Essayist 
would refuse to believe it on any testimon}^, just as he now re- 
fuses to believe that Lazarus was raised from the dead. But 
he believes without difficulty, and on very slight testimony, 
that this phenomenon of a fractured bone being reunited has 
occurred more times than he can reckon. Yet what sort of 
logic is that, which pronounces it absolutely incredible that 
the thing should happen for the first time only, but perfectly 
credible that it should take place again and again, till it has 
ceased to be a wonder ? The fact is, our author's whole argu- 
ment against miracles, founded on the absolute immutability of 
physical law, amounts only to this poor truism, that such a law 
is never suspended without an adequate cause. Nobody asserts 
the contrary. He who believes in a miracle believes that God 
suspended it. 

The fourth Essay, on the National Church, by the Rev. 
Henry B. Wilson, is chiefly curious as indicating the views of 
these writers as to the possibility and rightfulness of sceptics 
continuing to act as Christian clergymen, and, as such, to hold 
their benefices and other allotted portions of Church income, 
to officiate at the sacraments, to repeat weekly, if not daily, 



THE OXFOED CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 441 

the Service for the day, with either the Apostles', the Nicene, 
or the Athanasian Creed, together with the lessons from the 
Old and New Testaments, and to perform all other clerical 
functions. The general tone of the Essay, and the nature of 
the topics considered in it, strikingly illustrate the truth of our 
introductory remarks, upon the frame of mind and temper in 
which a clergyman finds himself, who has actually quarrelled 
with his profession and ceased to believe the doctrines that he 
is bound to teach, but who cannot summon up decision and 
fortitude enough to resign his office and look elsewhere for 
occupation and support. The writer adopts a querulous tone, 
and appears discontented with himself. The Essay is a sort 
of involuntary confession, a record of the anxious and bitter 
self -communings that grow out of a false position and a wide 
discrepancy between opinion and profession. Mr. Wilson evi- 
dently does not intend to attack Christianity, but only to jus- 
tify himself. Unhappily, a necessary part of his own justifi- 
cation is to show that he has some good reason for quarrelling 
with his religion, and that it is a veritable grievance to be 
obliged to repeat the formularies of faith. Accordingly, he 
does not actually argue against Christianity, but complains of 
it, frets about it, strives to pick flaws in it, and treats it as 
pettishly as a child does a lesson which only fear of the rod 
induces him to study. 

Thus, many evils in all ages, he tells us, — and the informa- 
tion is not very new, — have been linked with the Christian 
profession, such as religious wars, delusions, and spiritual 
tyrannies ; and " many goods of civilization in our own day 
have apparently not the remotest connection with the Gospel." 
He complains that forty-two per cent, of the English people, 
as was found by actual count, neglected to attend means of 
public worship within their reach on the census Sunday in 
1851. Scepticism is not radicalism now, Mr. Wilson says, what- 
ever it may have been half a century ago, but is " the result of 
observation and thought, not of passion." Our knowledge of 
the nations of the earth has been increased, and we have be- 
come acquainted with great empires " Pagan, or even atheistic." 

" We are told that to know and believe in Jesus Christ is in some 
sense necessary to salvation. It has not been given to these. Are 



442 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS : 

they, will they be hereafter, the worse off for their ignorance ? As to 
abstruse points of doctrine concerning the Divine Nature itself, those 
subjects may be thought to lie beyond the range of our faculties ; if 
one says aye, no other is entitled to say no to his aye." 

"If we would set many unquiet souls at rest," we are 
bound to explain " the unequal distribution of the Divine 
benefits." Christianity did not overspread the world very 
rapidly, after all ; it has never been professed by u more than 
a fourth part of the people of the earth." Among Christian 
converts, even in the Apostolic age, there were those who had 
no belief in the resurrection from the dead, and St. Paul 
argues with such elaborately, " without expelling them from 
the church ; " though, we will remind Mr. Wilson, in passing, 
that there is no evidence, and it is not very probable, that he 
allowed them to be ministers, bishops, or presbyters. " There 
were current in the primitive church very distinct Christol- 
ogies ; " and we can neither attribute to any defect in our 
capacities, nor to any imperfect spiritual endowments of the 
writers, " the difficulty, if not impossibility, of reconciling the 
genealogies of St. Matthew and St. Luke, or the chronology of 
the Holy Week, or the accounts of the Resurrection." 

Argument would be thrown away upon a fretful man, who 
is merely bent upon justifying his pettishness to himself. 
Otherwise, we might remind Mr. Wilson, that Christianity 
cannot fairly be held responsible for the faults of Christians 
which it has failed to cure, since it did not undertake to de- 
prive man of the freedom of his will ; that it may have been 
of inestimable benefit to the world, even if it has not been ac- 
cepted by all barbarous and uncivilized tribes ; that even the 
worst men at times feel its influence, and acknowledge its 
power to comfort and to save ; that surely the best elements 
of modern civilization are inseparably intertwined with it, and 
would perish without its support ; and that some difficulties 
in the interpretation of the record are the necessary result of 
its transmission through eighteen centuries to nations of widely 
different habits and modes of thought, without a continued 
miracle being wrought in order to adapt its expressions to 
ever-changing circumstances. The truth and purity of the 
revelation is one thing, and the perfectness of the record of it, 



THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 443 

after a lapse of one or two thousand years, or even in the 
Apostolic age, is another. If the benefits conferred upon the 
world by Christianity had stopped at any point short of turn- 
ing this earth into heaven, and men into gods, whining com- 
plaints would still be possible because it had not accomplished 
more. The question is not, whether the religion has done all 
the good that is conceivable, but whether the good which it 
has actually done is so great that we have full cause to thank 
God for revealing it to man. 

The main purpose of Mr. Wilson's Essay is to present the 
arguments for converting the present Established Church into 
a truly " National Church," whereby he means one so broad 
that it would literally contain all the people, of whatever 
shades of belief or unbelief, those who deny the resurrection, 
the revelation, or even the being of a God, included. " A 
National Church," he says, with startling frankness, " need 
not, historically speaking, be Christian, nor, if it be Christian, 
need it be tied down to particular forms which have been prev- 
alent at certain times in Christendom." All that is essential 
is, " that it should undertake to assist the spiritual progress of 
the nation." And the latitude which he would concede to the 
laity, he boldly demands for the clergy. " The freedom of 
opinion," he says, " which belongs to the English citizen, 
should be conceded to the English Churchman ; and the free- 
dom which is already practically enjoyed by the members of 
the congregation, cannot without injustice be denied to its 
ministers." 

The Essayist adopts entirely Coleridge's theory respecting 
the endowment of the Established Church, which endowment 
he calls the Nationalty, because it is the property of the na- 
tion at large, and, as such, does not descend by inheritance or 
testament. "The enjoyment of it is subject to the perform- 
ance of special services, and is attainable only by the posses- 
sion of certain qualifications." The privilege of participating 
in it should be free from all unnecessary restraint, so that the 
Clerisy may be kept up and recruited from the whole body of 
the citizens. Though the Nationalty at first was undoubtedly 
a foundation only for pious uses, as it originated in gifts and 
bequests for the support of a Christian Church and keeping up 



444 ESSAYS AND EEVIEWS : 

Christian ordinances, the object of this argument seems to be 
that it should now be applied to the development of the ethical 
and spiritual nature of the people, without the slightest refer- 
ence to speculative opinions. The right to a share in the en- 
dowment ought not to depend, it is urged, " on the possession 
of an abstractedly true and supernaturally communicated spec- 
ulation concerning God," but only on a right heart and a pure 
life, as these give the fullest manifestation of a divine life in 
man. " Speculative doctrines," says Mr. Wilson, " should be 
left to philosophical schools. A national Church must be con- 
cerned with the ethical development of its members." 

We are not answerable for the clearness of this exposition 
of Mr. Wilson's views ; for to avoid any injustice to him, we 
adopt his own language as far as our limits will permit, and 
his expressions are studiously wary and guarded. But the 
general drift of his argument is evident enough towards this 
conclusion ; that a belief in Christianity ought no longer to be 
a condition prerequisite for obtaining and holding office as a 
clergyman, and- thereby sharing in the honors and endowments 
of the Established Church. Now, whatever the Essayist may 
think, there is no doubt that this condition will continue to be 
insisted upon, at least for the present. Neither Parliament, 
nor Convocation, nor the great body of the English people, 
will favor any proposition to open the Church, either for the 
entrance or the continuance of a class of clergymen who have 
got beyond Christianity, and no longer believe in an external 
revelation, or in any supernatural event whatever. 

We are thus driven to examine the only remaining question, 
whether the Creeds, Articles, and Canons, which now limit and 
obstruct admission into the Church, cannot be so liberally in- 
terpreted that clergymen can squeeze in, or at any rate can 
stay in, if they are already within the precincts. The Essay- 
ist displays remarkable skill in casuistry while endeavoring 
to answer this question. More ingenious attempts to explain 
away the clearest language, or to avoid the plainest dictates of 
conscience, we have never heard of, save those exposed by Pas- 
cal in his immortal Provincial Letters. Thus, the sixth Arti- 
cle of the Church declares, that " Holy Scripture containeth 
all things necessary to salvation, so that whatsoever is not read 






THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 445 



therein, nor may be proved thereby, is not to be required of 
any man that it should be believed as an article of the Faith," 
&c. Mr. Wilson's comment is, that this language requires 
nothing to be believed unless it be Scriptural ; but it does not 
affirm, that everything which is Scriptural is therefore true 
and must be believed. Under such terms, it is said, "one 
may accept literally, or allegorically, or as parable, or poetry, 
or legend," whatever portion of Holy Writ he chooses so to 
interpret. Bat does not the Article plainly teach that Script- 
ure affords the ultimate and only test of doctrinal truth, and 
does it not thereby teach, by necessary implication, that every 
portion of Scripture must be believed ? Though the " Canon- 
ical books of the Old and New Testament " are enumerated 
and defined as constituting " Holy Scripture," Mr. Wilson 
goes on to argue that, " even if the Fathers have usually 
considered ' Canonical ' as synonymous with 4 miraculously in- 
spired,' there is nothing to show that their sense of the word 
must necessarily be applied to our own sixth Article." 

The act of subscribing the Thirty-nine Articles, which is re- 
quired of all the clergy, is declared by the Essayist " to be in- 
operative upon the conscience by reason of its vagueness ; " for 
the effect and meaning of " subscription " are nowhere plainly 
laid down. It amounts only to the acknowledgment of a law 
" to which the subscriber is in some sense subject." But the 
Church Canons established in 1603 appear to affix a very def- 
inite meaning to the act of subscription. The fifth of these 
Canons declares, that " whoever shall hereafter affirm that any 
of the Thirty-nine Articles is in any part superstitious or erro- 
neous, or such that he may not with a good conscience sub- 
scribe to the truth of them (vel omnino ejusmodi ut in eorum 
veritatem salva conscientia subscribi nequeat), let him be ex- 
communicated," and not be restored to his clerical office till 
he has publicly recanted his impious error. 

" Yet an article may be very inexpedient, or become so ; may be 
unintelligible, or not easily intelligible to ordinary people ; it may be 
controversial, and such as to provoke controversy and keep it alive 
when otherwise it would subside ; it may revive unnecessarily the re- 
membrance of dead controversies, — all or any of these, without being 
* erroneous ' ; and though not ' superstitious,' some expressions may 



446 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS : 

appear so, such as those which seem to impute an occult operation to 
the sacraments. The fifth Canon does not touch the affirming any of 
these things, and more especially, that the Articles present truth dis- 
proportionately and relatively to ideas not now current." 

Moreover, there is a statute, the 13th of Elizabeth, de- 
clared by Sir William Scott to be still in full force as a law 
of the land, which ordains that no person shall hold a benefice, 
unless he has previously subscribed the Articles, and unless, 
within two months after his induction, he shall have publicly 
read the said Articles in the parish church of that benefice, 
" with declaration of his unfeigned assent to the same ; " fail- 
ing which declaration, he shall be, ipso facto, " immediately 
deprived." Respecting this statute, Mr. Wilson argues that 
" the meshes are too open for modern refinement." And he 
might have added, that no form of words whatever can be 
binding upon the conscience of any man, who will allow him- 
self so far to profit by the arts of what he here calls " modern 
refinement," but what we call base chicane and wicked casu- 
istry, as to seek for " meshes " in the mere verbal expression 
of the promise, which may be open enough to allow him to 
creep through. We have been taught from early childhood, 
and should be ashamed to repeat the lesson to any others than 
young children, that the moral guilt of a falsehood is not pal- 
liated, but aggravated, by the equivocation which palters with 
the sense, and attempts to keep the word of promise to the 
ear while breaking it to the hope ; and that the opposite doc- 
trine should be taught publicly, and in print, by one claiming 
to be a Christian clergyman, is to us a strange and mournful 
event. Yet Mr. Wilson, passing without notice over the 
epithet " unfeigned," which here qualifies the required assent, 
and after remarking that it is unnecessary " to repeat concern- 
ing the word ' assent' what has been said concerning ' allow ' 
and 'acknowledge,'" goes on to argue as follows: — 

" Forms of expression, partly derived from modern modes of thought 
on metaphysical subjects, partly suggested by a better acquaintance 
than heretofore with the unsettled state of Christian opinion in the 
immediately post-apostolic age, may be adopted with respect to the 
doctrines enunciated in the first five Articles, without directly contra- 
dicting, impugning, or refusing assent to them, but passing by the side 






THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 447 



of them, — as with respect to the humanifying of the Divine Word 
and to the Divine Personalities." 

Three of the five Articles here alluded to refer especially to 
the doctrines of the Trinity, the Incarnation, and Atonement, 
and the Resurrection of Christ ; and by '•'•forms of expression 
derived partly from modem modes of thought on metaphysical 
subjects" Mr. Wilson probably means the technical phrase- 
ology of Schleiermacher, Hegel, Strauss, and other German 
philosophers, which allows one to speak of a sort of Christ em- 
bodied in the consciousness of every Christian individual, or 
to identify the Saviour with the whole human race, saying 
that it is Humanity which unites the two natures, and which 
dies, rises, and ascends to heaven, belief in an historical Christ 
being excluded altogether. At any rate, such are the doc- 
trines which, according to this Essayist, under the garb of 
modern metaphysical phraseology, are capable of "passing by 
the side of " the first five Articles of the English Church, 
" without directly contradicting, impugning, or refusing assent 
to them." 

Now it is not for us, here or elsewhere, to maintain the ver- 
ity of the Thirty-nine Articles as statements of sound theo- 
logical doctrine, or to uphold the justice and expediency of 
fencing round the Church of England with so many Creeds, 
Canons, and Articles, as means of excluding heterodoxy. These 
are points to be considered only by that Church itself. The 
only question to be answered here is, whether beneficed clergy- 
men of that Church, who are certainly free to leave it when- 
ever they see fit, are nevertheless justified in remaining in it, 
performing its duties, and sharing its revenues, when their 
own theological opinions are such as have been here stated, 
and when they can 4 allow,' ' acknowledge,' and declare their 
'unfeigned assent ' to its Articles and Canons only by means 
of such equivocations and perversions of language as we have 
just quoted in their own words. And this is a matter for them 
to consider, not so much as clergymen, nor even as Christians, 
but simply AS honest men. Adopt even Mr. Wilson's own 
low idea of the proper function of a National Church, — that its 
object is not to teach " an abstractedly true and supernaturally 
communicated speculation concerning God," but only to aid 



448 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS : 

44 the ethical development of its members." What sort of 
ethical development is that which elaborately teaches the art 
of explaining away, or creeping through the meshes of, the 
most deliberate promises and the most solemn declarations of 
belief ? How can man retain — we will not say, any faith in 
God, but — any confidence in his brother-man, if the binding 
force of every contract, and the truthfulness of every assevera- 
tion, were to be tried in the same scales in which Mr. Wilson 
weighs the obligation of a subscribed declaration of belief ? 
These Essayists are teaching us, not merely a new system of 
speculative unbelief in theology, but a new code of practical 
ethics, which, if it were true, would render men as incapable 
of living together in peaceful society as if they were what 
Hobbes describes them to be, — grasping savages, whose in- 
satiable cupidity can be restrained only by brute force. 

One honorable exception must be made. Mr. C. W. Good- 
win, the author of the next Essay in this volume, on " The 
Mosaic Cosmogony," after completing his preparation for the 
ministry, has, if we are rightly informed, stripped off his gown 
and voluntarily abandoned the clerical profession, because he 
could not conscientiously subscribe the required declarations 
of belief. Such conduct affords the best practical rebuke of 
the course pursued by his associates in this volume, most of 
whom still continue to stand up every week in the face of a 
whole congregation, and solemnly repeat aloud the Apostles' 
Creed, from its simple but lofty introduction, "I believe in 
God the Father Almighty," even to its consoling and impres- 
sive close, " the Forgiveness of Sins, the Resurrection of the 
Body, and the Life everlasting " ; though to three fourths of 
the clauses in that Creed, the only response which, in heart 
and conscience, they could make, would be, " I do NOT be- 
lieve." 

Mr. Goodwin's Essay need not be considered here at any 
length, as it is unexceptionable in tone, contains nothing new, 
and the topic of which it treats has been so much discussed 
elsewhere that it is fairly exhausted. We can only wonder at 
the exaggerated importance which has been attributed to the 
subject, and which has called forth so much discussion. The 
whole question turns upon the proper interpretation to be 



! 



THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 449 



given to a few verses, or rather to a few words, in the first 
two chapters of Genesis. Perhaps a dozen different modes of 
interpreting them have been proposed, any one of which has 
a certain plausibility, while we agree with Mr. Goodwin in 
thinking that not one of them is entirely free from objections. 
But give these objections their full weight, and what do they 
amount to ? Any bearing which they can have upon a belief 
in Christianity is so remote and indistinct, a matter of such 
doubtful inference, that a person's sanity would almost be 
questionable who should allow them to perplex or darken his 
faith. Genesis, in many respects, stands alone among the books 
of the Bible. It is probably the oldest of them all, and per- 
haps the oldest written book of any length that is now extant. 
It is the record of a tradition of a primitive revelation to man- 
kind. The record, as we now possess it, is imperfect, and the 
tradition was probably still more imperfect ; but the authen- 
ticity of the primitive revelation itself is attested by the gen- 
eral coincidence of its contents with the latest and best-estab- 
lished discoveries of modern science, — a coincidence admitted 
by Mr. Goodwin himself, with all his disposition to pick out 
and exaggerate discrepancies in detail, — and a coincidence 
that must appear even miraculous, when it is remembered 
that the book was written long before the birth of anything 
that deserved the name of human science, and that all other 
cosmogonies which even approximate it in antiquity are absurd 
and worthless. After giving a very good abstract of the latest 
and most certain conclusions of the geologists, Mr. Goodwin 
says : " Now these facts do certainly tally to some extent with 
the Mosaic account, which represents fish and fowl as having 
been produced from the waters on the fifth day, reptiles and 
mammals from the earth on the sixth, and man as made last 
of all." But he adds that "the agreement, however, is far 
from exact." We admit it ; and as Genesis was certainly not 
written for the purpose of anticipating the discoveries of mod- 
ern science, and as the forms of expression and modes of 
thought which belonged to the age when it was written are 
very unlike those that are current in our own day, we are 
neither surprised nor disturbed at the want of exactness. 
The Rev. Mark Pattison next contributes an historical essay 



450 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS: 

on the " Tendencies of Religious Thought in England, 1688- 
1750." It is ingenious, entertaining, and sophistical. The 
facts are selected in order to sustain a preconceived theoretical 
opinion, — a foregone conclusion, which, by a common rhetor- 
ical artifice, is nowhere expressly stated, though the way to- 
wards it is so skilfully marked out by selecting and marshalling 
the facts, that the unwary reader is entrapped into accepting 
it as his own deduction from known and acknowledged prem- 
ises. Of course, for the very reason that the facts are selected 
for this pupose only, the statement of them is but half the 
truth, and therefore the conclusion towards which they seem 
to tend is just as likely to be one-sided or false, as if it did 
not even pretend to have any facts at all for its basis. 

The thesis to be maintained is, that what are technically 
called " the Evidences " of Christianity are worthless ; that 
elaborating and writing them out is both an indication and a 
cause of a very low state of theology ; and that the study of 
them is unprofitable, and even degrading. And the historical 
proof of this doctrine is as follows. The eighteenth century, 
especially the thirty years which succeeded the peace of Utrecht 
(1714), though a period of great commercial and material 
prosperity for England, was "one of decay of religion, licen- 
tiousness of morals, public corruption, profaneness of language, 
— a day of rebuke and blasphemy." Mr. Pattison prettily and 
forcibly adds, " that it was an age whose poetry was without 
romance, whose philosophy was without insight, and whose 
public men were without character." This moral degradation, 
we are further informed, is not attributable to the material 
welfare of the country as its cause, but was due to the low 
state of theology, — especially to the fact that the theology of 
those times was mainly devoted to expositions of "the Evi- 
dences," — to repeated and futile attempts to prove what John 
Locke calls " the Reasonableness of Christianity." The con- 
clusion which the reader is invited to draw for himself is, that 
because John Locke, Addison, Bentley, Berkeley, Butler, Le- 
land, and many others, wrote frequently and vigorously in de- 
fence of Christianity, general infidelity ensued, and there was 
a wide-spread corruption of morals. 

Now we believe, not that the display of umbrellas brought 



THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 451 

down the rain, but that the rain brought out the umbrellas. 
It is far more probable that the prevalence of infidelity 
induced Bentley, Berkeley, and Butler to write in defence 
of religion, than that the writings of these men produced 
or enhanced the unbelief which they sought to cure. The 
chronology of the period favors this view. The most noted 
publications of the English Deists, as they are called, appeared 
before 1714, some of them, such as those of Blount and Shaftes- 
bury, falling within the preceding century ; while most of 
the answers to them were published after the peace of Utrecht. 
And low as the state of religion and morals was during the 
thirty or fifty years after the accession of the House of Bruns- 
wick, during the half- century which preceded that event it 
was far worse. The reigns of the first two Georges were bad 
enough, but they did not equal in profligacy, dissoluteness, and 
irreligion those of the last two Stuarts. Charles II. was as 
worthless a monarch as ever sat on an English throne, — with- 
out heart, patriotism, morals, or religion ; his court, ministry, 
and Parliament were as corrupt as he was, and his people were 
little better. James II. was a stupid and cruel bigot ; and the 
Church under him — equally unprincipled, at first in its fawn- 
ing submissiveness, and then in its rebellious intolerance — was 
worthy to have such a king for its temporal and spiritual head. 
Walpole and the Pelhams were not very scrupulous ministers ; 
but they appear almost as saints when compared with Shaftes- 
bury and the Cabal, with Danby and Rochester. The stage 
at this period was a brothel, the dramatists and poets are un- 
fit for a modest woman to read, and the clergy, with a few 
shining exceptions, had neither respectability, talents, nor influ- 
ence. From the corruption of those times English Deism was 
a natural outgrowth. Blount, Toland, and Shaftesbury were 
not very formidable opponents of religious belief, but their 
power consisted in the aptitude of the people to receive the 
lessons which they taught. They addressed a prepared and 
willing audience, who had already lent an itching ear to Hobbes, 
and were ready, soon afterwards, to listen to Collins, Wools- 
ton, Tindal, and Morgan. 

The reaction against this woful dissoluteness and unbelief 
began as early even as the reign of Anne, — the writings of 



452 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS: 

Locke, Newton, Bentley, and Addison certainly contributing 
towards the happy result. And the movement which they 
began was nobly continued, during the two ensuing reigns, by 
some of the finest minds of which English literature and phi- 
losophy can boast, and with results which, though gradual 
and incomplete, were still broad and permanent. Immorality 
and unbelief at least became ashamed to show themselves as 
openly as before ; they slunk into corners and hiding-places, 
and the general tone of literature became decorous and re- 
spectable. The public generally were weaned from the scoffs 
and ribaldry on which they had previously battened, and 
learned to respect religion and virtue, even if they did not 
always practise what they honored. The infidelity which had 
been so rampant at the beginning of the century now fell so 
rapidly out of fashion, that when Hume, at once the ablest 
and the most decorous of the Deists, published his Treatise on 
Human Nature, in 1738, he was obliged to confess that it fell 
still-born from the press, and did not obtain even the honor of 
a reply. That the theologians and philosophers who contrib- 
uted to this happy result should have devoted their writings 
chiefly to an exposition of " the Evidences," and a defence of 
the doctrines of Christianity, is no more to be wondered at 
than that, at a much earlier age, Justin Martyr and Tertullian 
should have published Apologies for Christianity. In both 
cases, Christians were addressing a generation of Pagans. 

It may suit Mr. Pattison's purpose, and fill out his triad of 
antitheses, to sneer at the philosophy of this period as " with- 
out insight." But it-shows bad taste and defective knowledge 
to include in this sneer such men as Butler, the father of mod- 
ern ethical science, not only in England, but for all Europe ; 
Berkeley, the pure and refined spiritualist, and one of the most 
elegant writers and original philosophical thinkers that Eng- 
land has produced ; Samuel Clarke, a co-worker with Newton, 
the well-matched opponent of Leibnitz, and one of the great- 
est masters of abstract metaphysical reasoning that the world 
has ever seen ; and even Warburton, who, with all his defects 
of temper, has been well called " the last of our really great 
divines." To represent such men, with their coadjutors, Locke, 
Bentley, and Addison, as over-matched, or even well-matched, 



THE OXFOED CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 453 

by such small fry as Blount, Toland, Collins, and Woolston, 
is but a piece of the same arrogance which declares that the 
works of Barrow now " excite perhaps only a smile of pity "/ 
Why, Bentley alone, the greatest classical scholar of modern 
times, appears, both in his Boyle Lectures and his contro- 
versy with Collins, like the giant Thor crushing his opponent 
with a single blow of his ponderous hammer. Yet this Es- 
sayist informs us, in his usual sneering tone, that " the more 
they demonstrated, the less people believed ; " and that, if cir- 
cumstances had not turned theological study another way, 
" the Deistical controversy might have gone on indefinitely, 
and the 'amabcean strain of objection and reply, cantare pares 
et respondere paratV have been prolonged to this day." But 
what victory could have been more decisive than the one 
achieved at least as early as 1750, before which time, as Mr. 
Pattison himself remarks, the Deists had first ceased to find 
an audience, and then ceased to write ? When the posthu- 
mous works of Bolingbroke, " the last of the professed Deists," 
were first published, in 1754, "the interest in them was al- 
ready gone; they found the public cold or indisposed." And 
we have already seen what was the reception of Hume sixteen 
years earlier. 

The offence which Berkeley, Butler, and Clarke committed, 
and for which they are tried by the Rev. Mr. Pattison and 
found wanting, " expiating the attention they once engrossed 
by as universal an oblivion," is that they wrote in defence of 
their religious faith when it was assailed by scoffers, and thus 
created one important department of English theology, the 
Evidences of Christianity. Our Essayist cherishes an intense 
dislike of these "Evidences," and heaps upon them all the 
sarcasms which he can invent or muster. He calls them "that 
Old Bailey theology, in which, to use Johnson's illustration, 
the Apostles are being tried once a week for the capital crime 
of forgery." He tells us, in one place, that " neither the ex- 
ternal nor the internal Evidences are properly theology at 
all ; " and in another, that " they were the proper theology 
of an age whose literature consisted in writing Latin hexame- 
ters." Then he calls them " home-baked theology," and bor- 
rows one sarcasm from Maurice, " that the result of the whole 



454 ESSAYS AND EE VIEWS : 

is, that ' it is safer to believe in a God, lest, if there should 
happen to be one, he might send us to hell for denying his ex- 
istence ; ' " and another irom a Tractarian, that the general 
result is " three chances to one for revelation, and only two 
against it." He tells us that, when writing upon the Evi- 
dences was in fashion, " the divine went out into the streets, 
with his demonstration of the being and attributes of God 
printed on a broadside." 

Perhaps a new standard of manners as well as of theology 
has been erected at Oxford ; but here in New England it 
would not be considered very decent and proper, it would not 
be " quite the thing " for a Christian clergyman, to heap up 
such sarcasms upon such a subject. But Mr. Pattison knows 
best what the audience which he is addressing will most relish. 
It is only charitable to him to believe, that he objects to "the 
Evidences " not merely as evidence, for that would be to reject 
the only test by which truth can be distinguished from error, 
either in a court of justice, in science, in philosophy, or in our 
daily conduct ; since, on all these occasions, we must make up 
our minds on evidence of one sort or another, or else give up 
man's noble prerogative of reason, and decide at haphazard. 
He does not, then, reject evidence as such, but only " the 
Evidences of Christianity;" or, in other words, his objection 
lies, not against the mode of proof, but against the thing to be 
proved. He will admit evidence in relation to every other 
topic under heaven, and will scoff at it only when it is in favor 
of Christianity. He will even admit it when it is against the 
Christian religion, but not when tending to establish it ; for, 
as we have seen, one leading purpose of his associates in this 
very volume is, to heap together against this religion all the 
objections which they can gather, whether from English 
Deism, from modern physical science, or from German meta- 
physics. Fair play requires us to hear both sides. But these 
gentlemen cry out, " Not so. Hear only the accuser ; muzzle 
the defendant. Heap up all the testimony for the prosecution, 
and rule that for the defence out of court." 

Want of space compels us to pass hurriedly over the only re- 
maining Essay in this volume, on the Interpretation of Script- 
ure, by Professor Jowett. It is chiefly an argumentative 






THE OXFORD CLERGYMEN'S ATTACK ON CHRISTIANITY. 455 

restatement of the theory which this writer propounded, and 
applied at length, in his Commentary on some of the Epistles 
of St. Paul, that diversities of opinion on theological subjects 
have arisen mainly out of " the error of introducing into the 
interpretation of Scripture the notions of a later age." His 
opinion seems to be, (for it is nowhere declared with much 
distinctness,) that the teachings of our Saviour and his Apos- 
tles, being addressed primarily to a few small communities of 
believers in some of the Roman provinces about eighteen cent- 
uries ago, have comparatively little meaning or pertinency for 
civilized Christendom in these later times. " The temper of 
accommodation," which has led to diverse and contradictory in- 
terpretations of Scripture, shows itself, he says, " especially in 
two ways : first, in the attempt to adapt the truths of Script- 
ure to the doctrines of the creed ; secondly, in the adaptation 
of the precepts and maxims of Scripture to the language or 
practice of our own age." According to this view, to attrib- 
ute our modern theological opinions to Christ and his Apostles 
is as great an anachronism as to attribute to them our system 
of philosophy. 

This theory is evidently based upon a very low and ration- 
alistic view of the origin of the Christian religion. It assumes 
in the outset, that the mission of our Saviour did not include 
any general revelation to all mankind, but only a special com- 
munication of certain truths which it particularly behooved 
one nation and one age to know, and from which subsequent 
generations can only glean a few isolated hints on matters per- 
tinent to their own condition. Furthermore, this is as much 
a theory which will bias all interpretations of Scripture made 
by those who hold it, as if they came to an examination of 
the text with a predisposition to find in it every clause of 
the Nicene Creed and every one of the Thirty-nine Articles. 
Professor Jowett thinks he has found a specific wherewith 
to avoid the errors of all former commentators ; but his own 
method turns out to be a mere repetition of the old blunder, 
which extracts from Scripture only fresh confirmations of pre- 
conceived errors. 

" Hie liber est in quo quserit sua dogmata quisque ; 
Invenit et pariter dogmata quisque sua." 



456 ESSAYS AND REVIEWS. 

We here close our examination of this remarkable volume, 
— an examination protracted to a greater length, as many of 
our readers will doubtless think, than is justified either by the 
merits or the demerits of the work under review. But, as al- 
ready remarked, the character and position of the writers may 
lend great significance to a book which would otherwise pass 
quietly and quickly to oblivion. 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 

FROM THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW FOR APRIL, 1854. 1 

It seems strange that the text of Shakespeare, which has 
been in existence less than two hundred and fifty years, should 
be far more uncertain and corrupt than that of the New Tes- 
tament, now over eighteen centuries old, during nearly fifteen 
of which it existed only in manuscript. The industry of col- 
lators and commentators, indeed, has collected a formidable 
array of " various readings " in the Greek text of the Script- 
ures ; but the number of these which have any good claim to 
be received, and which also seriously affect the sense, is so 
small, that they may almost be counted upon the fingers. 
With perhaps a dozen or twenty exceptions, the text of every 
verse in the New Testament may be said to be so far settled 
by the general consent of scholars, that any dispute as to its 
meaning must relate rather to the interpretation of the words 
than to any doubt respecting the words themselves. But in 
every one of Shakespeare's thirty-seven plays, there are prob- 
ably a hundred readings still in dispute, a large proportion of 
which materially affect the meaning of the passages in which 
they occur. The publication of Mr. Collier's recent volume, 
which, according to some critics, has not settled a single point 
which was formerly in controversy, has given us about a thou- 

1 1. Notes and Emendations to the Text of Shakespeare's Plays, from Early 
Manuscript Corrections in a Copy of the Folio 1632, in the Possession of J. Payne 
Collier, Esq. Second Edition, revised and enlarged. London, 1853. 

2. The Text of Shakespeare vindicated from the Interpolations and Corruptions 
advocated by John Payne Collier, Esq. By Samuel Weller Singer. 
London, 1853. 

3. A Few Notes on Shakespeare ; with Occasional Remarks on the Emendations 
of the Manuscript Corrector in Mr. Collier's Copy of the Folio 1632. By the 
Rev. Alexander Dyce. London, 1853. 



458 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 

sand new topics for the commentators to quarrel about. 
Many passages in the received text are also admitted to be 
hopelessly corrupt, as no consistent meaning can be given to 
them without doing violence to the language. 

It would be a curious and important investigation to assign 
all the causes of this astonishing difference. Bat a full dis- 
cussion of this subject would occupy a volume rather than an 
article ; and our only purpose here is to speak briefly of the 
circumstances which have caused the text of our great dram- 
atist to be so maimed and perverted, and have left so many 
passages to be settled by every reader according to his own 
taste and fancy. 

The first of these causes may be found in the character of 
Shakespeare himself, — in his unconsciousness of the great- 
ness of his work, and his consequent indifference about its pres- 
ervation. He wrote, not for the press, but for the theatre ; 
and the only success of any one of his plays which he seems to 
have cared for, was its effect in swelling the profits of the the- 
atrical company in which he was both an actor and a share- 
holder. He did not superintend, and there is no reason to 
believe that he even authorized, the publication of one of his 
dramas. The interests of the company were best served by 
retaining them in manuscript and in their own possession, so 
as to prevent the representation of them in rival theatres. 
Thus, not even written copies of them were multiplied beyond 
the needs of this single band of performers. Surreptitious 
copies sometimes got out, and piratical booksellers published 
them, but generally in so imperfect and corrupt a state that 
the author might have been puzzled to recognize his own 
progeny. Yet Shakespeare seems to have given himself no 
further concern about the matter than was implied in taking 
better care of the manuscripts of his later plays, very few of 
which appeared in print before the collective edition of his 
works was published, in 1623, seven years after his death. 

It may appear derogatory to the reputation of our great 
dramatist to assert that he wrote his plays for profit rather 
than fame. But we have no doubt that gain was his only 
motive. Of the publication of his " Poems," indeed, — the Ve- 
nus and Adonis, and the Lucrece, — he seems to have taken 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 45S 

more care, as if lie looked to the good opinion that men might 
form of them. He certainly wrote dedications of them to the 
Earl of Southampton, and, as the tradition goes, received a 
splendid proof of this nobleman's munificence in return. He 
must therefore have prepared the manuscript for the press ; 
and the text is accordingly found in tolerably good condition, 
having given but little trouble to the commentators. But the 
pla3^s were written to please such audiences as thronged the 
rude theatres of that period, — cheap wooden structures, open 
to the sky at the place designed for the spectators, most of 
whom were also compelled to stand on the ground, either in 
front or at the sides. The applause of such a rabble was of 
little worth ; all that was expected of them was their presence 
and the price of their admission. Provided the performances 
were attractive enough to allure a throng, the players cared 
for nothing further; and Shakespeare, who was one of the 
busiest among them, — at once actor, playwright, and share- 
holder, — was equally well satisfied. At times, the company 
was honored with a request, or a command rather, to perform 
at the houses of some of the nobility, or even at court ; but 
this honor was prized not so much for its own sake, as for 
the protection which it insured them, and the consequent 
permission to continue their gainful efforts to please the pop- 
ulace. 

The English drama, it must be remembered, was then in 
its infancy ; it was hardly twenty years old when Shakespeare 
entered upon the profession. The Mysteries and Moralities 
which preceded it were not of much higher rank than the per- 
formances of Punch and Judy, or of the Doctor and his Merry- 
Andrew, at a much later day. The players seem, at first, 
to have been merely tolerated, not licensed. Under Edward 
VI., severe measures were taken to repress dramatic perform- 
ances and the publication of plays. For two years, under 
Mary, they were totally inhibited. The government of Eliza- 
beth discountenanced them at first, but by degrees they were 
permitted. In 1572, an act was passed to limit the num- 
ber of itinerant performers, and it was renewed with addi- 
tional severity in 1597. The Lord Mayor and Aldermen suc- 
ceeded in excluding them from the precincts of the city, but 



460 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS : 

they found shelter in the liberties. Not till 1576 was any 
building set apart for theatrical representations ; previously, 
they had only temporary accommodations in structures de- 
signed for other purposes. The Puritanic feeling seems to 
have been aroused against them, while they appear to have 
found favor with the nobility, and some indulgence at court. 
Thus, the several associations of players called themselves the 
companies of the Queen, the Earls of Leicester, Derby, and 
Sussex, and the Lords Hunsdon and Strange. The connec- 
tion thus implied was probably little more than nominal ; but 
the persecuted actors seem to have found some protection un- 
der it. Their chief dependence was on the strong attachment 
of the populace, with whom theatrical performances were as 
much in favor as bear-baiting, and but little more reputable. 
After Shakespeare had been on the stage about ten years, he 
was obliged to join his comrades in a very humble petition to 
the Privy Council, because some of the inhabitants of Black- 
friars, where their playhouse was situated, had sent in a for- 
mal remonstrance, not only against the repairing and enlarge- 
ment of the building, a work which had been already begun, 
but against any more dramatic performances. By the staid 
and respectable citizens of those days, the theatre was evi- 
dently regarded as a mere nuisance. The Council granted 
the petition of the actors so far as to allow the repairs to be 
completed, but forbade the contemplated enlargement of the 
house. 

Little honor, but much profit, was to be expected from writ- 
ing plays under these circumstances. Such was evidently 
Shakespeare's mode of looking at the matter ; and many of 
his characteristics as a dramatist may be partially accounted 
for by this explanation of his purpose. Hence the wildness, 
freedom, and sweetness of his style, uncurbed by critics' rules ; 
hence the mixture of tragedy and comedy, — the repetition of 
favorite characters, like Falstaff with his attendants, in sev- 
eral plays, 1 — the frequent introduction of a clown or jester, 

1 The title-pages of the surreptitious quarto editions of the plays which were 
published in Shakespeare's lifetime are very significant, for they show which 
characters in them had especially commended them to the favor of the populace. 
Thus, in 1598, we have an edition of " The History of Heurie the Fourth; with 
the batlell at Shrewsburie, betweene the King and Lord Henry Percy, surnamed 






EESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 461 



and of scraps of old ballads or songs ; hence the verbal quips 
and conceits, the presence of which we now regard as a blem- 
ish ; hence, also, the choice of the subjects of his plays, most of 
which are drawn from popular stories and legends, and from 
the history of England, which, even as late as Henry VIII., 
had already become legendary in the memory of the illiterate 
populace. We have no doubt that the Porter's speech in 
Macbeth, which has justly given so much offence, was written 
to please that least reputable portion of a theatrical audience, 
which is accommodated nowadays in the shilling gallery, and 
was designed to be omitted when the play was performed at 
court, or at a nobleman's house. When he wrote exclusively 

Henrie Hotspur of the North. With the humorous conceits of Sir John Falstalffe." 
In 1600, we have " The Second Part of Henrie the fourth, continuing to his death 
and coronation of Henrie the fift. With the humours of Sir John Falstaffe and 
swaggering Pistoll." The title-page of Henry the Fifth, published the same year, 
does not fail to specify " his battell fought at Agin Court in France. Together 
with Auntient Pistoll." Still more promising in its adaptation to the tastes of the 
populace was the hill of fare for The Merry Wives of Windsor, which was first 
printed in 1602: "A most pleasauut and excellent conceited Comedie, of Syr 
John Falstaffe and the merrie Wives of Windsor. Entermixed with sundrie va- 
riable and pleasing humors, of Syr Hugh the Welch Knight, Justice Shallow, 
and his wise Cousin M. Slender. With the swaggering vaine of Auncient Pistoll 
and Corporall Nym." If this seems too much like a modern title-page to Mother 
Goose, it should be remembered that the populace are always children, and 
Shakespeare certainly treated them like children when catering for their tastes. 

How he pressed English history into his service when laboring for the same end, 
may be further conjectured from the title-page of Richard III., first published in 
1597. "The Tragedy of King Richard the third. Containing, His treacherous 
plots against his brother Clarence ; the pittiefull murther of his innocent nephews ; 
his tyrannicall vsurpation : with the whole course of his detested life, and most de- 
served death." This reads like an extract from Dickens's " Child's History of 
England." To the vulgar, history, even that of their own country, is only a great 
story-book, not a whit more authentic, and certainly not more entertaining, than 
Shakespeare's plays or Scott's novels. We think that a sufficient argument might 
be founded on this very title-page against the whimsical Horace Walpole's " His- 
toric Doubts " respecting Richard III. ; for it shows what was the universal im- 
pression of the great body of the illiterate English people respecting that sov- 
ereign only about a hundred years after his death, — a period surely not too long 
for a very accurate portraiture of him to be handed down in household tra- 
dition. The grandfathers, if not the fathers, of some of those who first saw 
Richard III. played at the Blackfriars Theatre, might have told their children 
how the crooked-backed tyrant looked just before the battle of Bosworth Field. 
There was much truth as well as point in the reply of a statesman, who, when 
challenged for an authority respecting an alleged fact in English history, boldly- 
answered, " Shakespeare's Plays, — the only History of England I ever read." 



462 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 

for " gentle " readers, and designed to dedicate his perform- 
ance to a nobleman, Shakespeare's tone and manner were 
very different. Witness either the Venus and Adonis, or the 
Lucrece, which are perfectly regular poems, very uniform in 
versification, and showing artistic unity in the plot and em- 
bellishments. The remark may appear a bold one, but we 
fully believe that Shakespeare no more thought of publishing 
his Plays, than the late Joe Grimaldi did of printing his 
Pantomimes. They were designed exclusively for the stage, 
and for the exclusive benefit of the theatrical company to 
which their author belonged. They ivere not intended to add 
to his reputation, but to fill his purse ; and this purpose they 
accomplished admirably. 

Shakespeare came up to London a penniless young man, his 
father being on the verge of bankruptcy, and a stain resting on 
his own character from the youthful indiscretions which had 
forced him into an ill-assorted marriage, at the age of eighteen, 
with a woman older than himself, and had made the most in- 
fluential country gentleman in the neighborhood of his birth- 
place his implacable enemy. The only friends he could claim 
in the great metropolis were the players whose acquaintance 
he had made, when, in the course of an itinerant round of per- 
formances, they had visited his native village; and his only 
resource was to join their company, and make himself useful 
in the best way he could. His post at first was an humble 
one, for he was reckoned only as the twelfth in a company of 
sixteen members ; but he rose rapidly. " In 1596, he was 
fifth in a company of eight members ; and in 1603, he was 
second in a company of nine members." Only eleven years 
after his seemingly desperate attempt to seek his fortune in 
the metropolis, he had become rich enough to buy " New 
Place," a " great house " in his native town, and establish his 
family in it ; and five years afterwards, he bought one hundred 
and seven acres of neighboring land, and attached it to his 
dwelling. In less than a twelvemonth, he purchased two 
other tenements in Stratford, so that he was now a considera- 
ble land-owner. After making a very cautious estimate, Mr. 
Collier considers <£400 a year (equal to at least £1,600, or 
$8,000, at the present value of money) the very lowest amount 



> 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 463 



at which his income can be reckoned in 1608. Ward, who 
was vicar of Stratford-upon-Avon less than fifty years after 
Shakespeare's death, says his income was so large "that he 
spent at the rate of XI, 000 a year, as I have heard." At 
the early age of forty-eight, still in the prime of his physical 
ami mental strength, but seemingly thinking that he was rich 
enough and had worked long enough, he dissolved his connec- 
tion with the playhouse, quitted London, and went down to 
end his days in quiet and inglorious ease at his native place, 
apparently unconscious that he had done anything extraordi- 
nary. His Plays — the foundation upon which has since risen 
the towering fabric of a reputation " the greatest in our liter- 
ature, the greatest in all literature " — were carelessly left be- 
hind in London, for his old associates to do with them whatso- 
ever they would, — the larger number of them still existing 
only in manuscript, in carelessly written playhouse copies, — 
the others in print, indeed, but only in pirated, unfaithful, and 
curiously maimed and distorted editions. 

And in manuscript, or in these " stolen and surreptitious 
copies, maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealths of 
injurious impostors, that exposed them," they remained till 
Shakespeare's death, and for seven years afterwards. He 
seems not to have bestowed another thought upon them after 
quitting London in 1612. He gave no direction about them 
in his will, whence we infer that his right of ownership in 
them had ceased, probably as soon as he sold out his other 
theatrical property. " Sundry manuscript plays" were perhaps 
enumerated in the inventory, together with " the wardrobe and 
properties of the same playhouse," estimated at £500, and 
four out of the twenty shares into which the joint stock was 
divided, when the whole pecuniary interest of William Shake- 
speare in the Blackfriars and Globe Theatres was disposed of 
to his old associates or successors. Prospero broke his staff, 
abjured his magic, and though he did not exactly " drown his 
book," he certainly took as little care of it as if he had thrown 
it overboard. Its new owners guarded their acquisition with 
more watchfulness than its author had shown. " With the 
single exception of Othello, which came out in quarto in 1622, 
no other new drama by Shakespeare appeared in a printed 



464 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 

form between 1609 and the date of the publication of the folio 
in 1623." The editors of this noted volume, the chief source 
of "the received text" of the plays, were Heminge and Con- 
dell, two of Shakespeare's old associates in the theatre. In 
dedicating it to the Earls of Pembroke and Montgomery, they 
represent themselves only as performing a pious " office to the 
dead, — to procure his Orphans," (as they appropriately term 
these abandoned children of his brain,) "Guardians; without 
ambition either of selfe-proflt or fame : onely to keep the mem- 
ory of so worthy a Friend and Fellow alive, as was our Shake- 
speare, by humble offer of his plays to your most noble pat- 
ronage." This was a very proper tone for them to assume; 
but if they did not act for " selfe-profit," they certainly had no 
regard for the interest or rights of Shakespeare's heirs and 
natural representatives. Whatever profit may have accrued 
from the publication was shared between the printers and 
themselves. 

Other play wrights seem to have been as careless as Shake- 
speare was about the fate in print of their dramatic perform- 
ances, however anxious they may have been for success on 
the stage. If the play had been performed and applauded by 
the audience, and had thus put money in the author's purse, 
it had done its work ; no gain in point of literary reputation 
was to be expected from printing what belonged to a depart- 
ment of literature that was held in so light esteem as stage- 
plays. Opinion on this point was just the reverse of what it 
is nowadays, when poets, like Byron, Coleridge, and Brown- 
ing, write dramas to be printed, but not to be performed. 
"When " The Rape of Lucrece," by Thomas Heywood, was 
first printed, in 1608, its author took the unusual course of 
informing the public, in the Preface, that he had consented 
to its publication. Yet the impression is full of the grossest 
blunders, so that we may be sure he did not think it necessary 
even to see the proof-sheets. Mr. Collier says this edition, 
" with the author's imprimatur, is, we think, the worst speci- 
men of typography that ever met our observation." 

" We cannot wonder," adds Mr. Collier, " at the errors in plays 
surreptitiously procured and hastily printed, which was the case with 
many impressions of that day. Upon this point, Heywood is an 
unexceptionable witness ; and he tells us of one of his dramas, 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 465 

' that some by stenography drew 
The plot, put in print, scarce one word true.' 

Other dramatists make the same complaint ; and there can be no 
doubt that it was the practice so to defraud authors and actors, and 
to palm wretchedly disfigured pieces upon the public as genuine and 
authentic works." 

Plays were falsely attributed to Shakespeare, and published 
with his name on the title-page, in which it is certain that he 
had had no hand whatever. Yet he seems to have taken no 
pains to expose the fraud, or to relieve himself from the im- 
putation of having written what would surely have done him 
little credit. We ought not to wonder, then, that, when by 
the fraud of printers, and perhaps by the connivance of some 
of the inferior actors, very imperfect and disfigured copies of 
his dramas got abroad, and were published in quarto as his 
genuine productions, he did not disavow them, or complain of 
the blunders, as Heywood did, but allowed them to pass un- 
noticed. Sixteen of his plays were thus printed in quarto 
during his lifetime ; and with the addition of Othello, which 
was thus printed in 1622, they formed the only means which 
the public had of judging his performances, except from their 
representation on the stage, till the appearance of the first 
folio edition of all his dramas, in 1623. Many of these plays 
in the quarto form passed through several editions, the later 
issue being sometimes a mere reprint of the former, and 
sometimes claiming to be " newly corrected, augmented, and 
amended." With regard to the whole sixteen, we find no 
reason to doubt the positive assertion of Heminge and Con- 
dell, the editors of the first folio, that they were " stolen and 
surreptitious copies, maimed and deformed by the frauds and 
stealths of injurious impostors." Some of them do not con- 
tain much more than skeletons of the plays as they now exist, 
and are also deformed with blunders so gross that they cannot 
be accounted for except on the supposition, favored by the 
lines already quoted from Heywood, that they were copied 
out, in part at least, by stenography, from the recitation by 
the players ; and, of course, that many passages were imper- 
fectly heard and imperfectly preserved. Others may have 
been printed, in part, from imperfect playhouse copies, sur- 

30 



466 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 

reptitiously obtained ; that is, from transcripts of only one 
part, or of the speeches belonging to one personage in the 
drama, as they were copied out to be studied by individual 
performers. Copy for the printers may also have been ob- 
tained, or corrected, by inducing some of the actors to repeat 
their parts slowly at an alehouse or tavern, so that the words 
could be taken down. A very defective copy, obtained by 
the first of these methods, for the earliest edition in quarto, 
may have been subsequently " augmented and amended " by 
the other expedients, for the later issues. Mr. Charles Knight, 
a strenuous defender of the untenable hypothesis that Shake- 
speare himself authorized some of these quarto publications, 
and even furnished the manuscript for them, they being the 
first rude sketch of dramas which he afterwards greatly en- 
larged and improved, is obliged to confess that five out of the 
sixteen were certainly pirated and extremely defective edi- 
tions. 

We consider Knight's hypothesis untenable, because it is 
very unlikely that Shakespeare, who allowed the grandest 
productions of his mature genius, like Macbeth, the Tem- 
pest, Othello, Julius Caesar, and many others, to remain in 
manuscript throughout his lifetime, and who left no direc- 
tions about publishing them even in his will, should have 
voluntarily given to the world the first rude sketches of his 
earlier plays, — sketches which soon appeared to him so im- 
perfect that they needed to be entirely rewritten before they 
could keep their place even upon the stage. Besides, it may 
reasonably be doubted whether Shakespeare ever retraced his 
steps, and took up again, for more elaborate and careful treat- 
ment, a subject which he had once dismissed as a drama fit for 
representation. He rewrote, indeed, the plays of others ; but 
we have direct and unimpeachable evidence that he did not 
rewrite a speech, a line, or a word in a play of his own. More 
than any secular writer whom the world has known, he real- 
ized the theory of inspiration. Heminge and Condell, his asso- 
ciates and the editors of the first complete edition of his pla} T s, 
inform us explicitly, that "what he thought he uttered with 
that easiness that we have scarce received from him a blot in 
his papers." And Ben Jonson, also his intimate friend, says, 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 467 

44 1 remember the players have often mentioned it as an honor 
to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) 
he never blotted out a line." Honest Ben directly adds, it is 
true, " My answer hath been, Would he had blotted a thou- 
sand ! " But Shakespeare and he had very different notions 
of composition. His dramas were wrought out, as if he had 
been still piling bricks, with the sweat of his brow ; while the 
thoughts of the gentle bard of Avon voluntarily " moved har- 
monious numbers." Jonson may have rewritten his plays, but 
Shakespeare never. 

With regard to the quarto editions, whether they were all 
pirated or not, it is indisputable that they are lamentably 
maimed, botched, and defective. The first of them was Ro- 
meo and Juliet, which appeared in 1597, seven or eight years 
after Shakespeare began to write for the stage. Two years 
afterwards, a second edition of the same play appeared, claim- 
ing to be " newly corrected, augmented, and amended ; " and 
in three subsequent issues, the " augmentations " had become 
so large, that while, in Stevens's reprint, the first edition occu- 
pies only seventy-three pages, the edition of 1609, reprinted in 
the same volume and same type, fills ninety-nine pages. Some 
of these augmentations, as Mr. Knight says, " are amongst the 
most masterly passages in the whole play ; " but he forgets to 
add, that there are others which are not much needed, and are 
are hardly worthy to be Shakespeare's first thought, much less 
his second. And even the more imaginative and exquisite lines 
which first appear in the later edition are, for the most part, 
but additions of considerable length to speeches and solilo- 
quies, which, to an impatient copyist hastily taking down the 
words from the player's recital, might appear tedious and 
unnecessary for the full development of the plot or distinct 
portraiture of the characters. Thus, the long speech of the 
Friar, in the opening scene of the fourth act, is expanded from 
thirteen lines in the first publication, to thirty-three in the edition 
of 1609. It is far more likely that the copyist omitted the 
twenty lines in the former case, than that Shakespeare added 
them in the latter, as they are not wanted for the business of 
the plot, and are rather an impediment if the drama be con- 
sidered as an acting one. Juliet's soliloquy, in the third scene 



468 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 

of the same act, was retrenched in a similar manner by the 
copyist for the first edition in quarto, after he had given all 
the necessary points in it to enable the reader to understand 
the progress of the incidents. Shakespeare did not rewrite 
his plays for the mere purpose of eking out long speeches with 
poetical tail-pieces. Passionate and wildly fanciful as the 
lines are, which were first printed in the later quarto, they 
are but the natural — the inevitable — completion of Juliet's 
thought as the mighty master conceived it. 

Hamlet was first printed in quarto in 1603, and was re- 
printed in the same form the next year, with the following ad- 
dition to the title-page : " newly imprinted, and enlarged to 
almost as much againe as it was, according to the true and per- 
fect Coppie." Here we have a very distinct assertion that the 
first quarto was not a true and perfect copy, and we know 
that it does not contain much more than half of the play as it 
now exists. Even Mr. Knight, therefore, is obliged to confess 
that it was piratical, and that it may have been " published in 
haste from a short-hand copy, taken from the mouths of the 
players ; " though he still adheres to the hypothesis, in this 
case utterly indefensible, that the Hamlet enacted on the stage 
in or before 1603, from which this stolen short-hand copy was 
taken, was not the Hamlet which we now have, but only an 
immature first draft, — the earliest conception, and compar- 
atively feeble expression, of what was afterwards wrought into 
a noble drama. In other words, he maintains that the defi- 
ciencies of the first quarto are attributable to the piratical 
copyist in some small degree indeed, but in great part to 
Shakespeare himself, who had already, and even some years 
before, written such plays as Henry IV., The Midsummer 
Night's Dream, King John, and The Merchant of Venice. He 
confesses that " all the action of the amended Hamlet is to be 
found in the first sketch ; " so that Shakespeare rewrote the 
piece, in this instance as in the former one, merely for the pur- 
pose of lengthening out the speeches with poetical imaginings 
and philosophical aphorisms, leaving the plot and the charac- 
ters just as they were before. Among the many puerile con- 
ceits and baseless suppositions of the commentators on Shake- 
speare, this hypothesis stands unmatched for absurdity. 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 469 

We lay it down almost as an axiom, then, that whenever the 
early quarto editions fail to give, even in a perverted and mis- 
printed condition, the ivhole text as we now possess it, the omis- 
sions and deficiencies are attributable solely to " the frauds 
and stealths of the injurious impostors " who published them. 
Several of these editions are confessedly complete, or nearly 
so, being probably derived from full playhouse copies that 
had been surreptitiously obtained, though the printers sadly 
marred and defaced them on the published pages. But others 
are so imperfect, that, if we depended for the text upon them 
alone, Shakespeare would seem to fall to the level of a second- 
rate dramatist. The first quarto of Romeo and Juliet, as we 
have seen, contains only about three fourths of the text ; the 
first Hamlet only about half. The quarto Henry V. contains 
only about eighteen hundred lines, while the perfect text has 
thirty-five hundred. Malone justly says, " The quarto copy 
of this play is manifestly an imperfect transcript procured by 
some fraud, and not a first draught or hasty sketch of Shake- 
speare's. The choruses, which are wanting in it, and which 
must have been written in 1599, before the quarto was printed, 
prove this." The folio Othello has one hundred and sixty- 
three lines that are not in the quarto ; and as the quarto of 
this play was published six years after Shakespeare's death, 
and only one year before the folio, Mr. Knight is obliged to 
abandon his hypothesis, and to acknowledge that the earlier 
edition was piratical and defective. Richard II. in the first 
quarto is defective by a whole scene, containing one hundred 
and fifty-four lines ; and the Second Part of Henry IV., as 
printed in the folio, has about one hundred and fifty lines that 
are not in the quarto. The quarto Lear omits only about fifty 
lines of the genuine text; but its surreptitious and defective 
origin is still more clearly indicated by another peculiarity, 
which we will allow Mr. Knight to describe. 

" In the quarto text, the metrical arrangement is one mass of con- 
fusion. Speech after speech, and scene after scene, which in the gen- 
uine copy of the folio are metrically correct, are, in the quarto, either 
printed as prose, or the lines are so mixed together, without any ap- 
parent knowledge in the editor of the metrical laws by which they 
were constructed, that it would have been almost impossible, from this 



470 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 

text alone, to have reduced them to anything like the form in which 
they were written by the author. This circumstance appears to us 
conclusive, that these quarto copies could not have been printed from the 
author's manuscript." 

Summing up the whole matter, then, we may ask, What 
would be the state of Shakespeare's text, if we were obliged 
to depend solely upon the editions that were published in his 
lifetime f In the first place, twenty of his plays, many of 
which are among the noblest of his efforts, would be lost to 
us altogether. For the text of The Tempest, As You Like 
It, Twelfth Night, Winter's Tale, King John, Julius Caesar, 
Macbeth, Antony and Cleopatra, Cymbeline, and eleven oth- 
ers, we are dependent solely on the folio of 1623. In the 
second place, the sixteen plays that were printed while their 
author was yet living are all piratical copies, obtained by 
stealth and by expedients obviously so incompetent to furnish 
an accurate copy, that hardly a line in them can safely be pro- 
nounced to exist just as Shakespeare wrote it, except upon 
internal evidence, or from its agreement with the copy of the 
same play which is found in the folio. 

The next question that arises is, How perfect is the text of 
the plays in the folio of 1623 ? It is comparatively little to 
say, that Heminge and Condell, the editors of that volume, 
seem to have limited their efforts to merely supplying the 
printers with the playhouse manuscript copies, such as they 
then were, of all the dramas, and not to have troubled them- 
selves at all about the correction of the press. Glaring typo- 
graphical blunders abound in it ; verse is printed as prose, and 
prose as verse ; the punctuation throughout seems to have been 
made at haphazard ; words are omitted, mistaken, and trans- 
posed ; and sometimes the types appear to have been jumbled 
together into what bears hardly the semblance of a word. A 
more important consideration is the state of the manuscripts 
which were furnished to the printers. In 1612, Shakespeare 
ceased writing, gave up all connection with the theatre, and, 
of course, with his plays, and retired from London ; and in 
1616, he died. It follows, that all the twenty plays which 
were first printed in the folio had existed in manuscript, with- 
out being seen by their author, for at least eleven years, and 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 471 

some of them for a much longer period. The Two Gentle- 
men of Yerona, for instance, was probably written about 
1592, and had therefore existed only in written copies for 
thirty-two years ; Measure for Measure and the Comedy of 
Errors had thus existed for over twenty years. The Globe 
Theatre was burnt down in 1613, and it is more than prob- 
able that all of Shakespeare's original manuscripts, which had 
survived to that period, were then destroyed. The written 
copies were multiplied by careless transcribers for the use of 
the different performers, sometimes the whole being copied 
out, at other times, only the part of one of the personages in 
the drama. The prompter's books were probably complete, 
while those used by individual actors were more or less defect- 
ive. Alterations and omissions were made from time to time, 
to adapt the performance to the varying exigencies of the the- 
atre or the altered taste of the times. We have a slight but 
curious indication of the improved morality of the English 
populace, consequent upon the diffusion of Puritanic feelings 
and opinions under James I., in the fact, that not a few of the 
expressions in the play of Henry IV., as they appear in the 
quartos, and which were thought profane, especially some of 
the ejaculations of Falstaff, were, in the folio, softened or ex- 
punged. Such expurgations, as they do not affect either the 
wit or the sense, are not to be regretted. But there were 
others which are more serious. 

To shorten the performance, portions of long speeches, and 
even parts of the dialogue, were marked to be omitted by the 
actors in recitation ; and when new copies came to be made, 
to replace those which had been lost or worn out, the copyist 
omitted to transcribe what had ceased to be acted. We have 
said that Lear, in the folio, contains about fifty lines that are 
not in the quarto ; and we must now add, that the quarto has 
about two hundred and twenty-five lines, which are indisput- 
ably Shakespeare's, that are not in the folio. The omissions 
were probably made to shorten the performance, as, without 
them, Lear is the longest of the author's plays except Hamlet. 
The passages that were struck out are chiefly descriptive, 
everything being retained which was necessary to the progress 
of the action or to the development of character. But among 



472 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 

them are some of the most masterly passages in the drama, 
rich in the inexhaustible wealth of Shakespeare's imagination, 
and glowing with the fire of passion. Thus, the whole of the 
third scene of the fourth act, containing " a Gentleman's " in- 
imitable description, given to Kent, of the manner in which 
Cordelia, in France, received the news of her father's mal- 
treatment by her sisters, is left out in the folio, — perhaps for 
the very reason that the passage is so beautiful and striking, 
that it would infallibly have been marred in the delivery by 
such an actor as was thought competent to play the very in- 
ferior part of an anonymous gentleman. And yet that most 
unhappy editor, Mr. Knight, blindly and stubbornly support- 
ing his hypothesis that the author revised and altered the text 
of his own dramas, strenuously maintains that the omission of 
this exquisite scene was Shakespeare's own act, — his only 
reason being that it is "purely descriptive;" and he " cannot 
avoid believing, that the poet sternly resolved to let the effect 
of this wonderful drama entirely depend upon its action"! 
We should not be surprised to hear that Mr. Knight " cannot 
avoid believing " in Ferdinand Mendez Pinto and Baron 
Munchausen. 

In Richard II., as it exists in the folio, we do not find about 
fifty lines that are printed in the quarto. To prove that they 
were omitted only to shorten the performance, and not because 
they contained blemishes or were supposed not to be genuine, 
we need only quote five of them, contained in Richard's speech 
when he banishes Bolingbroke : — 

" And for we think the eagle-winged pride 
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, 
With rival-hating envy, set you on 
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle 
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ; " etc. 

The earliest quarto edition of Hamlet, as we have noticed, is 
a very imperfect one ; but the second quarto is comparatively 
complete, and even contains some two hundred lines which are 
not found in the folio. Among them is the magnificent pas- 
sage (in a speech of Horatio, Act I. Scene I.,) describing the 
omens that preceded the assassination of "the mightiest Julius," 
— a passage very similar to a corresponding one in the play of 
Julius Caesar. For example : — 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 473 

" The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead 
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets." 

Still more important is the omission of the whole scene that 
contains the grand soliloquy of Hamlet, beginning, — 

" How all occasions do inform against me, 
And spur my dull revenge ! " 

The only motive for such abridgment must have been the de- 
sire to shorten the performance of this very long play. 

We need not pursue this collation, having adduced sufficient 
proof that the folio, though much more trustworthy than the 
quartos, is far from giving us a text which can be relied upon 
for fulness and accuracy. Of course, we can trace the omis- 
sions of the folio only in those cases, (and in them but par- 
tially,) in which the plays had been previously published. 
How many and how important the abridgments are in the 
twenty plays that were first published in 1623, we cannot even 
conjecture. But judging from analogy, even from the few in- 
stances that have here been mentioned, it is safe to affirm that 
many of the most exquisite passages that Shakespeare ever 
wrote are lost to us forever. 

There is but one other point to be noticed in this brief 
sketch of the condition of the text of our great dramatist. In 
reference to quite a number of plays, we are left in doubt 
whether they were written by Shakespeare or somebody else, 
or how great his share in them is, if any. This doubt ex- 
ists with respect to five of the plays which are published as his 
in the folio of 1623, viz. the Three Parts of Henry VL, Titus 
Andronicus, and Pericles ; and there are at least half a dozen 
other plays, which, save that they are not inserted in Hem- 
inge and Condell's edition, have about as good a claim to be 
considered his as the poorest of these five. In his capacity of 
playwright to the theatrical company to which he belonged, 
Shakespeare seems first to have exercised his 'prentice hand in 
altering and adapting to the purposes of the stage the produc- 
tions, anonymous for the most part, of other dramatists. Be- 
fore giving birth to any children of his own brain, he adopted 
many of the progeny of other people, and sent them forth to 
the world with a much fairer chance of life and prosperity 
than they had received from their natural parents. Some he 



474 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 

rewrote almost entirely ; but even in these, some uncharacter- 
istic defect, some meanness of phrase or poverty of thought, 
betrays their doubtful origin, and proclaims them base-born. 
In others, his amending hand is but seldom visible, and the 
only wonder is why their parentage was ever ascribed to him. 
Very early in his career, a sour and envious brother dramatist 
complained bitterly of him, as " an upstart crow, beautified 
with our feathers," as one of those " puppets that speak from 
our mouths, those anticks garnished in our feathers ; " and 
who, " being an absolute Johannes Fac-totum, is, in his own 
conceit, the only Shake-scene in a country." The charge of 
plagiarism that is here insinuated is simply absurd ; for Shake- 
speare gave away his own property, instead of appropriating 
that of other people. He claimed nothing in respect to author- 
ship, not even that which was wholly his own. He took up 
miserable and naked children, who were running parentless 
and shivering through the streets, and, after feeding and cloth- 
ing them, sent them away again, without giving them his 
name, to be fathered by any one who might claim them. And 
yet, as Mr. Collier remarks, he was the " Johannes Fac-totum " 
of his theatrical associates. " He was an actor, and he was a 
writer of original plays, an adapter and improver of those al- 
ready in existence, (some of them by Greene, Marlowe, Lodge, 
or Peele,) and no doubt he contributed prologues or epilogues, 
and inserted scenes, speeches, or passages on any temporary 
emergency." Because he was so entirely careless about the 
credit which might accrue from such performances, what he 
thus wrote has irrecoverably perished. We know not how 
much the whole dramatic literature of the later part of Eliz- 
abeth's reign, and the early part of James's, owes to Shake- 
speare. Ben Jonson and Beaumont and Fletcher are certainly 
under heavy obligations to him. 

The conclusion that must be drawn from this summary view 
of the evidence is, that the text of no eminent writer, whether 
ancient or modern, with perhaps the single exception of JEs- 
chylus, has come down to us in so uncertain, defective, and 
corrupt a condition as that of Shakespeare. The account 
now given will be found fruitful, if we mistake not, in im- 
portant inferences respecting the proper criticism and emen- 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 475 

dation of the text. And it also throws much light on the 
question which has been so fiercely mooted for the last year 
or two between Mr. Collier and the other commentators on 
j Shakespeare. 

Suppose an ancient playhouse copy should be discovered, 
| containing thousands of manuscript emendations, which clear 
I up many of the most obscure and corrupt places in the text, 
and which can be traced back, by very satisfactory evidence, 
to a period at least as early as the Revolution of 1688, and 
perhaps anterior even to the Restoration in 1660. Such a 
) discovery, we might well imagine, would be hailed with great 
joy by the admirers of Shakespeare all over the civilized world. 
It may seem strange and almost unaccountable, then, that the 
professed critics, commentators, and editors of Shakespeare's 
text, who now form a numerous and very active class of liter- 
j ary men, both in England and this country, far from welcom- 
ing the discovery, should manifest extreme jealousy and irrita- 
tion, and lend all their efforts towards discrediting the value 
of the newly found emendations, and impugning the character 
of him who brought them to light. If a bomb-shell had been 
fired into the critical camp, it could not have raised a greater 
j commotion than the announcement of the manuscript correc- 
< tions found in a copy of the folio of 1632. The press could not 
I work fast enough to give vent to the indignation of the corps 
of commentators; "Remarks," "Observations," "Criticisms," 
"Vindications," etc., were published faster than any one 
I could read or hardly count them. Those who could not find 
I means to send forth a book or a pamphlet had recourse to 
the periodicals ; and the articles upon the subject threatened 
to give the public a surfeit of Shakespearian literature. The 
I whole hive of critics appear to have swarmed for the sole pur- 
! pose of stinging Mr. Collier to death. In the preface to the 
i second edition of his " Notes and Emendations," he remarks, 
j with some pathos : — 

" My accidental discovery of the corrected folio of 1632 has, I fear, 
tended to cool friendships of long standing ; and individuals with whom 
I was formerly acquainted now look upon me as if I had done them 
some personal injury, which they could not overlook, and yet did not 
know how to revenge." 



476 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 

This onslaught of the whole body of commentators upon 
one of their fraternity seems to us not only inconsistent with 
fairness, but to look too much like an attempt to forestall pub- 
lic opinion, and to bear down reason and testimony by sheer 
vociferation. If we had the Irishman's disposition to be " any- 
body's customer in a row," we should take up the cudgels 
stoutly in Mr. Collier's defence, and think we could make out 
a fair case for him. But we have no taste for controversy, and 
have an especial dread of a battle among the commentators. 
Dr. Johnson long ago remarked, that the art of writing notes 
to Shakespeare is not of difficult attainment. " The work is 
performed," he said, " first by railing at the stupidity, negli- 
gence, ignorance, and asinine tastelessness of the former ed- 
itors, and showing, from all that goes before, and all that fol- 
lows, the inelegance and absurdity of the old reading ; then 
by proposing something which, to superficial readers, would 
seem specious, but which the editor rejects with indignation ; 
then by producing the true reading, with a long paraphrase, 
and concluding with loud acclamations on the discovery, and a 
sober wish for the advancement and prosperity of genuine crit- 
icism." If one would see this remark fully exemplified, let 
him glance at the several publications in which Messrs. Singer, 
Dyce, Knight, and Halliwell — all rival editors of Shakespeare 
— have assailed Mr. Collier's discovery. One important fact 
these gentlemen seem to have entirely lost sight of, — which 
is, that the question is not at all personal to Mr. Collier, that 
the emendations which he has lately published are not his 
emendations ; that he has, in fact, played but a very humble 
part in the transaction, being only the medium through which 
they have been given to the public ; and that the importance 
and interest of the communication which he has made are fully 
attested by this very pother among the commentators, — by 
the immense pains which the persons who seem to consider the 
text of Shakespeare as their peculiar property have taken to 
prove that it was absurd and valueless. Dr. Johnson tells us, 
that he " always suspected that the reading is right, which re- 
quires many words to prove it wrong." If this principle be a 
sound one, the correctness of the emendations which Mr. Col- 
lier has recently discovered and published is unquestionable. 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 477 

As we do not intend to take any further notice of this dis- 
creditable personal controversy, it is but fair to Mr. Collier to 
say, that he seems to have acted throughout with commend- 
able fairness, discretion, and modesty. 1 He has not put him- 
self forward obtrusively, he has not defended all the emen- 
dations which he has discovered, and he has shown singular 
candor in renouncing, without a sigh, on the authority of the 
anonymous old corrector of the folio of 1632, many of the 
opinions which he had expressed and strenuously defended in 
his recent elaborate edition of Shakespeare. He has thus 
given his assailants an opportunity to triumph over him, — - an 
opportunity which all of them, excepting Mr. Dyce, have been 
ungenerous enough to use to the full extent. But they have 
not been candid enough even to allude to the fact, that the an- 
notated folio of 1632 has, in very many instances, convicted 
them of gross error in their former comments upon the text, 
and that, if the authority of the old annotator is admitted, 
their critical reputation will be seriously impaired, and their 
editions will become almost valueless. Sine illce lacrymce. 

We propose, in the first place, to give a brief view of the 
external evidence in the case, a point which has not yet re- 
ceived the attention that it deserves. Copies of the folio edi- 
tions of Shakespeare, containing a few manuscript corrections of 
the text made by some unknown hand, are not rare or difficult 
to be had. Mr. Singer tells us he possesses two of them ; the 
Earl of Ellesmere has a third ; a fourth once belonged to the 
poet Southerne ; and a fifth exists here in Boston, of which 
some account has been given in a pamphlet that is now before 
us. Such annotations have not usually been found to be 
either numerous or valuable. Accordingly, when Mr. Collier 
became the owner, about five years ago, of a much worn and 
defaced copy of the folio of 1632, on the cover of which was 

1 I am sorry to feel obliged to add that this commendation of Mr. Collier's 
conduct needs now to be materially qualified. From the evidence published two 
or three years after this article was written, it appears to be proved that he tam- 
pered unjustifiably with the MS. Annotator's work, and told different stories, not 
only about the corrections, but about the manner in which the volume came into 
his possession and its previous history. These painful disclosures do not seem 
materially to affect the credit or importance of the manuscript annotations them- 
selves, but they certainly shake our confidence in Mr. Collier's conduct and 
character. 



478 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS : 

written " Thomas Perkins, his Booke," he hardly noticed its 
written marginal corrections, but threw the volume aside as 
being nearly valueless. After a while; his attention being 
again accidentally turned towards it, he was struck with the 
astonishing number and minuteness of the written annota- 
tions, and also with sundry plain indications that they had 
been made by some person connected with the stage, either 
as actor or manager, apparently for the purpose of creating a 
very accurate playhouse copy. He then attempted to trace 
the history of the volume, but at first was wholly unsuccessful 
in the endeavor. Before the second edition of his book was 
printed, however, he obtained some important information, 
which he details in the Preface. 1 

Mr. Parry came forward and stated that he owned the vol- 
ume about fifty years ago, and that it had been given to him, 
towards the close of the last century, by a connection of his 
family, Mr. George Gray, who was a collector of rare books. 
Mr. Parry described from memory both the exterior and inte- 
rior of the book, its missing leaves and innumerable correc- 
tions, with such minuteness as to leave no doubt that it was 
the very copy which has since come into Mr. Collier's hands. 
It is not certainly known how Mr. Gray obtained it ; but Mr. 
Parry had always understood and believed that he procured it 
from a place called Ufton Court, a few miles from his own 
residence, which had long been occupied by a Roman Catholic 
family of the name of Perkins. This family had been broken 
up, and their library sold, at the time when Mr. Gray became 
the purchaser of the volume. The family was of some note 
and antiquity, one member of it having married Arabella Fer- 
mor, the heroine of the " Rape of the Lock," and another, 
Francis Perkins, having died at Ufton Court in 1635, only 
three years after the publication of the folio which has been 
annotated. There was a distinguished actor on the stage, 
named Richard Perkins, who is known to have borne a part in 
the representation of Webster's " White Devil," before that 
drama was published in 1631. He was also in some measure 
a poet, as he wrote a copy of verses prefixed to Heywood's 

1 The account which follows in the next paragraph, it must now be admitted, 
is but partially trustworthy. 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 479 

" Apology for Actors.'* Mention has been found in print of a 
Richard Perkins, who, at an unknown date, married a Lady 
Mervin of Ufton Court ; and Collier supposes it barely possi- 
ble, that this was Richard Perkins the actor. This conjecture 
is rendered improbable, however, by the known fact, that the 
actor, after the playhouses were shut up by the Long Parlia- 
ment, lived for some years at Clerkenwell, where he died not 
long before the Restoration. Still it is not unlikely that he 
was the manuscript annotator of the volume, and that it passed 
from him to his relative, Thomas Perkins, whose name is writ- 
ten on the cover, and who transmitted it to the family at 
Ufton Court. This conjecture seems the more plausible, as 
the cover on which the name is written does not seem to have 
been the original binding of the volume. Thomas Perkins 
may have prized the volume highly, on account of the margi- 
nal corrections made in it by a relative, and may therefore 
have given it a new binding and written his name upon it. 

The character of the handwriting makes this hypothesis ex- 
tremely probable. Mr. Collier states his belief, that the writ- 
ing is not much later than the time when the volume came 
from the press (1632) ; and we are not aware that this state- 
ment has been impugned by any of his assailants among the 
commentators, some of whom must be very familiar with the 
chirography of the period in question. Indeed, one who has 
seen many specimens of the handwriting of the founders of 
New England, from 1630 to 1660, on turning to that in the 
fac-simile prefixed to Mr. Collier's volume, will be struck with 
many obvious points of resemblance, such as the form of the 
long s, the peculiar shape of e, the prolongation of h below 
the line, &c. Mr. Collier also states very positively his pres- 
ent conviction, that the writing throughout the volume is by 
the same hand, though he was at first inclined to believe, from 
a difference in the ink employed on different pages, that two 
or more persons might have written in the volume ; and we 
are inclined to give full credit to this statement, because he 
has shown frankness in mentioning several slight circumstances 
that might create a presumption against the authenticity of 
the manuscript readings. 

But we do not need to press any doubtful circumstance into 



480 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATOKS : 

the argument. It is enough that the chirography and other 
external evidence prove, beyond all question, that the marginal 
corrections were entered at least .as early as the publication of 
the fourth folio, in 1685 ; other considerations will enable us 
to carry the date of them still farther back, — to a period an- 
tecedent to the issue of the third folio, in 1664. So it is enough 
to be assured that the emendations were made for theatrical 
purposes, and by some person connected with the stage, either 
as actor or manager, whether it were Richard Perkins, or one 
of his fellows or successors. 

" Many passages, in nearly all the plays, are struck out with a pen, 
as if for the purpose of shortening the performance ; and we need not 
feel much hesitation in coming to the conclusion, that these omissions 
had reference to the representation of the plays by some company 
about the date of the folio, 1632. To this fact we may add, that 
hundreds of stage directions have been inserted in manuscript, as if 
for the guidance and instruction of actors, in order that no mistake 
might be made in what is usually denominated stage-business. It 
is known that, in this respect, the old printed copies are very defi- 
cient; and sometimes, the written additions of this kind seem even 
more frequent, and more explicit, than might, be thought neces- 
sary. The erasures of passages and scenes are quite inconsistent 
with the notion that a new edition of the folio, 1632, was contem- 
plated ; and how are they, and the new stage-directions, and ' asides/ 
to be accounted for, excepting on the supposition that the volume 
once belonged to a person interested in, or connected with, one of 
our early theatres ? The continuation of the corrections and emen- 
dations, in spite of and through the erasures, may show that they 
were done at a different time and by a different person ; but who 
shall say which was done first, or whether both were not, in fact, the 
work of the same hand ? " — Collier's Notes and Emendations. 

In this last sentence, Mr. Collier seems to us to state quite 
too modestly or doubtfully his conviction, that the erasures 
and emendations of the erased passages were made by the 
same hand. The MS. Annotator, as we shall in future call 
the unknown author of the written emendations of the folio 
of 1632, appears to have amended the passages, because he 
had no doubt that they were genuine ; at the same time, he 
crossed them out only to indicate that they were to be omit- 
ted in the performance. He did precisely what was done by 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 481 

the players in Shakespeare's own day, and what no modem 
editor, critic, or commentator would have thought of doing. 
We have already proved that many passages of considerable 
length, amounting to two hundred and fifty lines in a single 
play, had been struck out from the manuscript copies that were 
used by Heminge and Condell in editing the first folio edition 
of Shakespeare, — struck out, not from any doubt whether he 
wrote them, but only to shorten the time required for perform- 
ing a long drama. An editor or annotator, who was prepar- 
ing the copy, not for representation on the stage, but only to 
be published and read, in which case the length of a play is of 
no importance, would never have dreamed of taking such a 
liberty; and many persons, who have looked at the matter 
only superficially, have thought that, because the MS. An- 
notator used such indefensible license with the text, he could 
not have had warrant or authority for any part of his proceed- 
ings. On the contrary, the license thus taken by him affords 
good evidence in his favor, as it proves that he was an actor 
at an early day, when such freedom was deemed allowable, 
and one that relied chiefly upon old playhouse copies, instead 
of being an editor at a much later period, who relies only upon 
conjecture, and who may alter a word here or there, though he 
would never dare to erase a sentence. 

Another fact casually mentioned respecting these erasures 
supports an important inference about their date, which seems 
to have escaped Mr. Collier's notice. All passages of an in- 
decent, or needlessly licentious or profane, character are care- 
fully struck out, evincing, says Mr. Collier, "the advice of 
a better or purer taste about the period when the emendator 
went over the volume." For instance, the Porter's speech in 
Macbeth, and portions of the dialogue between Hamlet and 
Ophelia, are erased. Now at what period was the prevailing 
taste so pure as to authorize, and even require, the omission of 
such passages ? Not surely after the Restoration, when the 
gross licentiousness of the stage was countenanced by the still 
grosser licentiousness of the court, — when plays were pub- 
licly acted which are now deemed not fit to be read, — and 
when Dryden and Davenant polluted even Shakespeare by 
their stupidly obscene alterations of The Tempest. Was it 

31 



482 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS : 

not rather in Charles the First's time, when, as we have seen, 
the diffusion of Puritanism compelled the editors of the first 
folio to strike out the profane ejaculations of Falstaff, and 
some minor indecencies, which had been tolerated in the pub- 
lication of the earlier quartos ? 

Again, it should be remembered that the Long Parliament, 
in September, 1642, ordered all the theatres to be closed ; 
(they had previously been shut up nearly a year, beginning 
in May, 1636, on account of the plague;) and a more im- 
perative and effectual ordinance was published in 1647, " for 
the better suppression of stage-plays, interludes, and common 
players." Rigid measures were adopted a year afterwards to 
enforce this act, and we know that it was enforced with great 
strictness until the eve of the Restoration. Not till 1658 did 
Davenant venture to occupy the Cockpit, Drury Lane, with a 
theatrical company ; and even then he called his representa- 
tions operas, and did not grow bold enough to cause regular 
stage-plays to be performed till just before Charles II. landed 
in England. The theatres, then, were closed, and the actors' 
vocation was gone, for about sixteen years. It appears ex- 
tremely probable that one of the principal performers or man- 
agers should have sought employment or diversion, during this 
period of enforced leisure, by correcting what was then the 
latest complete edition of Shakespeare, using for this purpose 
his own recollection of some of the leading parts, which he 
had committed to memory for the performance of them, and 
also all the now useless stores of the prompter's room, consist- 
ing of old manuscripts and marked copies of the quartos and 
of the first and second folios. There must have been very 
many transcripts, either partial or complete (for the use of a 
large theatrical company), of at least twenty of the plays, 
down to 1623, when the first folio was published ; and as this 
folio was a rather costly volume, instead of buying copies 
enough of it for the whole troop, it is most likely that they 
continued to rely, in part at least, on their old manuscripts ; 
and it is by no means extravagant to suppose that a num- 
ber of those written copies, which either had been in fre- 
quent use, or had been laid aside and forgotten, continued in 
existence for at least twenty years, — that is, down to the 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 483 

time when the theatres were shut up by the Long Parliament. 
The player, therefore, could have had no lack of materials to 
work with ; and the work which he performed was certainly 
respectable in amount. Mr. Collier tells us that there are 
over twenty thousand emendations ; and from various signs he 
concludes that the MS. Annotator must have been engaged 
several years in making them. 

Is there any later period, during which a flayer (for we 
consider it to be demonstrated that the MS. Annotator was 
a player) was equally likely to have the requisite leisure, in- 
clination, and materials for so great an undertaking? Can 
we find such a period in the reign of Charles II., when theat- 
ricals were in greater favor than they ever had been, or ever 
have been since, — when playhouses were numerous and 
thronged, — when we may reasonably suppose that all the 
histrionic talent in the kingdom was developed and in full 
employment, — but when Shakespeare was so little in re- 
pute, that his plays can hardly be said to have kept posses- 
sion of the stage, except in the form of the tasteless, obscene, 
and barbarous alterations of them by Dryden, Davenant, and 
others ? The same considerations apply, not indeed with 
equal, but with great force, against the hypothesis that the 
emendations were made under James II., William and Mary, 
or Anne ; but we need not here dwell upon this point, for, as 
we have said, the proof from other sources is complete, that 
they could not have been entered in the margins after 1685, 
the date of the fourth folio. 

Observe, that we have as yet confined our attention entirely 
to the external evidence ; and the only point which this evi- 
dence has been cited to prove is, that the manuscript annota- 
tions in question were made in a copy of what was, when they 
were made, the latest complete edition of Shakespeare ; in 
other words, these annotations were entered before the publi- 
cation of the third folio, in 1664. And we must avow our 
conviction, that the evidence cited is sufficient for the point to 
be proved ; for it may be doubted if the age of any undated 
ancient manuscript, either of the Scriptures or the Latin or 
Greek classics, is determined within one hundred years upon 
testimony as conclusive as that which has now been given. 



484 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATOKS : 

From (1.) the ascertained history of the volume, considered in 
its connection with the Perkins family at Ufton Court ; from 
(2.) the appearance of the chirography, when compared with 
other specimens of handwriting under Charles I. ; from (3.) 
the nature of the passages marked to be omitted in the per- 
formance ; and from (4.) the fact that the emendations were 
made by a player, and that the playhouses were shut up from 
1642 to 1658, — we regard it as proved that the MS. Annota- 
tor had finished his work in 1664. In what follows, we shall 
proceed upon the supposition that this point is established. 

In treating of the internal evidence in favor of the MS. 
Annotator's emendations, we wish, at first, to use only that 
portion of it which is conceded (to go for what it is worth) 
even by his most bitter and resolute assailants, — by those 
who are well acquainted with the subject, but who, at the 
same time, have the strongest motives for depreciating the 
value of Mr. Collier's discovery. Thus, even Mr. Singer, who 
is, beyond all question, the blindest and the most bigoted of 
the corps of editors and commentators who have attacked the 
recently discovered corrections, and who is enabled to deny 
the necessity for many of them only by putting forward, 
as undoubted readings, some very curious conjectural emenda- 
tions of his own, — even Mr. Singer admits the authenticity of 
nearly all that portion of the MS. Annotator's labors, in which 
he has been unconsciously followed by most of the modern 
commentators, from Theobald downward. He thinks, however, 
to ma%e this admission only a damaging one for Mr. Collier's 
cause, by a sneering remark in each case ; such as, " This 
is another of the undesigned coincidences," or " This is a 
happy coincidence again." In other words, he insinuates that 
Mr. Collier has committed forgery ; and he sometimes makes 
the insinuation a very open one. After the abundant proof 
now given of the antiquity of the manuscript corrections in 
Mr. Collier's book, this charge, which fails to be criminal only 
because it is so prodigiously absurd, may be safely said to be 
derogatory only to him who made it. 

Mr. Singer is so delightfully silly as to assert, in plain lan- 
guage, that the old MS. Annotator has stolen from him, — 
from Mr. Singer, who published an edition of Shakespeare in 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 485 

1826, and who, according to an advertisement carefully an- 
nexed to his present book, is about to issue another edition of 
the great dramatist, in which he hopes " to have the gratifica- 
tion of leaving the text of Shakespeare in a much more satis- 
factory state than I found it." But let us consider the alleged 
case of plagiarism from his former edition. In Love's Labour's 
Lost, we find, according to the old folios, the following line : — 

" So [pertaunt like] would I o'ersway his state." 
The critics have been greatly perplexed by the two words 
which we have inclosed in brackets ; and the MS. Annotator 
tells us, what no reasonable being except a commentator will 
doubt, that the line should read, — 

" So potently would I o'ersway his state." 
Now for Mr. Singer. 

" As I have never seen the corrector's book, I am obliged in self- 
defence to think it possible that he had seen mine ; for in the edition 
of Shakespeare I gave in 1826, the line stands, — 

1 So potent-like would I o'ersway his state.' 
And having no faith in coincidences, when they are so marvellously re- 
peated hundreds of times, I feel constrained to draw this conclusion. 
Be it observed, however, that potent-like is a nearer approach to the 
old reading than potently, and / cannot but wish the corrector had kept 
closer to my reading." — Singer's Text vindicated, p. 24. 

Bravo ! Mr. Singer. If your proposed new edition of 
Shakespeare should contain many such words as potent-like^ 
it will be a curious-like production, and we will certainly buy 
a copy. 

Mr. Dyce is an able and gentlemanly critic, all of whose 
suggestions are deserving of respect ; and though laboring un- 
der the strong bias against the value of Mr. Collier's discovery 
which must affect all who have been, or are to be, editors of 
Shakespeare, or who have committed themselves by published 
criticisms upon the text, his concessions are comparatively 
frank and bountiful. He has reason, indeed, to favor the MS. 
Annotator, who sanctions several happy criticisms and conject- 
ural emendations contained in his " Remarks on Collier's and 
Knight's Editions of Shakespeare," published in 1844. " My 
opinion is," says Mr. Dyce, " that while [Mr. Collier's volume] 



i 



486 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS : 

abounds with alterations ignorant, tasteless, and wanton, it 
also occasionally presents corrections which require no author- 
ity to recommend them, because common sense declares them 
to be right." 

But of all concessions made by opponents, we prefer to use 
those of an able critic, also an editor of Shakespeare, in " Put- 
nam's Magazine " for October and November, 1853 ; because 
he has taken pains to make the expression of his opinion ex- 
act by classifying the emendations according to their relative 
merit, and numbering those in each class. Of the 1,303 mod- 
ifications of the text by the MS. Annotator which are specified 
in the first edition of Mr. Collier's book, (we are using the 
second edition,) this critic tells us that 249 are what he calls 
"old; " — that is, a few of them may be found in the text of 
the first folio or the old quartos, but the greater part agree 
with the conjectural emendations that have been proposed by 
critics and commentators " during the last hundred and fifty 
years." Of these 249, he says, 29 have been rejected by pre- 
vious editors, and he judges that 47 others are "inadmissible 
but plausible ; " and the remaining 173 are already admitted 
and form part of the received text. We have here, then, the 
exact number of Mr. Singer's "remarkably happy coinci- 
dences." As this critic himself, after considerable wavering, 
places the date of the MS. Annotator's labors " not earlier 
than about 1670," and says elsewhere " that some of the [MS. 
corrections] are about a hundred and seventy-five years old, 
there can be no question," while the race of " critics and com- 
mentators " certainly did not begin to work till Rowe pub- 
lished his edition in 1709, and did not accomplish much before 
Theobald's " Shakespere Restored " appeared in 1726, it fol- 
lows, that the MS. Annotator is entitled to the whole credit of 
the 173 admitted, and the 47 plausible, corrections, in the sug- 
gestion of which he preceded all other persons by at least a 
quarter of a century. Observe further, that it is not merely 
the anonymous American critic who concedes that this large 
number of corrections is admissible, but the whole corps of 
critics and editors who have since adopted them have virtually 
made the same admission ; and at least as much as this may be 
fairly inferred from the language already quoted from Singer 
and Dyce. 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 487 

Again, of the 1,054 modifications of the received text which 
the critic in " Putnam's Magazine " declares are peculiar to 
the old MS. Annotator, he admits that 119 are " inadmissible 
but plausible," and 117 " seem to be admissible corrections of 
passages which need correction ; " grudging language, which 
shows rather the unwillingness of the concession than any 
doubt as to its justice or propriety. Adding these to the 
former sums, we have a total of one hundred and sixty-six 
plausible, and two hundred and ninety admitted, corrections of 
the text, the sole credit of which is due to the MS. Annotator. 
What one editor, critic, or commentator can claim the origi- 
nal suggestion of an equal number of conjectural emenda- 
tions, which even strongly prejudiced rivals and opponents 
admit as either plausible or unquestionably sound ? Theo- 
bald, one of the earliest, and certainly the best of the whole 
corps, who, because he was the happiest in conjecture, was 
exalted by Pope to his painful preeminence in the "Dunciad," 
and has been regularly abused by every dunce of an editor 
and commentator since his own day, — Theobald probably 
cannot claim half as many. In our own times, critics and 
editors of Shakespeare very seldom aspire to the perilous 
honor of " conjectural emendations," but confine their labors 
almost entirely to what they call restoring the old, genuine 
text, and shovelling away the heap of absurdities which have 
been accumulated by the guesswork of former commentators ; 
never failing, however, to pilfer slyly a large number of the 
best guesses from the mass, and to install them quietly in the 
text. Mr. Dyce, the ablest of their number, has proposed 
perhaps a score of new readings, most of which do honor to 
his taste and discernment ; Mr. Singer, the feeblest of the set, 
may have published fifty guesses, of which it can only be said 
that the best are atrociously bad. 

If the truth must be told, antiquarianism and bibliomania 
have spoiled our latest set of commentators. They seem more 
bent upon showing the extent of their collection of rare or 
unique books and pamphlets, — rare or unique because so 
worthless that no one for two or three centuries has ever 
thought of republishing them, — and the great compass of their 
reading in the most obscure and forgotten part of the litera- 



488 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATOKS : 

ture of the Elizabethan period, than upon correcting or eluci- 
dating the text of Shakespeare. A disputed reading is with 
them only a pretext for a vast display of cumbrous and out- 
of-the-way erudition. We are sorry to add, that this seem- 
ingly harsh remark is especially applicable to Mr. Dyce, whose 
last published volume, of only 156 pages of large print, con- 
tains perhaps three or four hundred citations from at least half 
as many authors of the sixteenth or the early part of the sev- 
enteenth century, whom no one but a zealous antiquarian ever 
heard of. We open the book at random for an example, and 
find this line of Shakespeare, — 

" Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff," 
the meaning of which appears too obvious to need any elu- 
cidation, illustrated by thirty -three citations from such authors 
or books as the following : " Tiptoft Earle of Worcester," 
" The Lord Hastings," " England's Eliza," A. Fraunce's 
" Countess of Pembrokes Yuychurch," 1591, " A Herrings 
Tayle," 1598, Barnes's " Divel's Charter," 1607, Armin's 
"Valiant Welshman," 1615, Hubert's "Edward the Second," 
1629, " Fuimus Troes," 1633, etc., etc. And the point to be 
proved by this barrow-load of stupid quotations is, that the 
writers of Shakespeare's time sometimes indulged in such an 
iteration or jingle of words as " stuffed bosom " and " perilous 
stuff" in the line which forms the text, — a point which might 
be fully and easily made out from Shakespeare himself. We 
do not forget that the world is indebted to antiquarianism for 
a very few needed illustrations of a few obscure expressions 
in our great dramatist. But the thing is carried altogether 
too far. Any tasteful student of Shakespeare will exclaim, 
Give me a bushel of those much-abused conjectures, generally 
rash, but sometimes striking and happy, of Theobald, War- 
burton, Hanmer, and others, rather than a cart-load of this 
conceited and fantastical learning. The best and most justi- 
fiable display of it, Farmer's "Essay on the Learning of Shake- 
speare," with all its wit and curious erudition, always seemed 
to us to prove little or nothing except the writer's misplaced 
industry. 

But to return from this digression. Our readers have prob- 
ably anticipated the only remaining point in our argument, 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 489 

though it is the one that constitutes the strength of the case 
in favor of the old MS. Annotator. This indefatigable cor- 
rector, — whose very name has perished, and whose manu- 
script labors, two centuries after his death, were picked up at 
a bookstall for thirty shillings, — but who, by the confession 
even of his jealous rivals and opponents, has distanced all com- 
petition in the race of conjectural emendation, and who has 
restored the true text of Shakespeare in hundreds of instances, 
while the best of his imitators was painfully amending a 
score of lines, — this miracle of critical ingenuity was a poor 
player, ivho lived in an age (the first half of the seventeenth 
century) when conjectural emendation of an English author 
was an art as yet unheard of, and tvhen the writings of our 
great dramatist were so little known or prized, that four rude 
and uncritical editions of them sufficed for a century. In 
Charles the First's time, or under the Commonwealth, a The- 
obald would have been a miracle, and even a Singer would 
have seemed a curiosity. We can more easily imagine an- 
other Shakespeare to have arisen about 1640, than an amender 
of Shakespeare's text by guesswork; for the race of play- 
wrights was then still in being, though that of critics and 
commentators was as yet unborn. The folio of 1632 was a 
mere reprint of that of 1623, and it added more errors of the 
press than it corrected. The edition of 1664 bears no marks 
of an editor's care, except the insertion of half a dozen apoc- 
ryphal dramas ; and that of 1685 is as carelessly printed as 
its predecessors. " Neither of the two latter folios is of the 
slightest authority in determining the text of Shakespeare." 
In urging this argument, we do not need to place any great 
stress upon the value or genuineness of the MS. Annota- 
tor 's corrections, but only upon their extraordinary number 
and minuteness. In that uncritical age, that a person should 
have been willing to give the labor of several years to mak- 
ing twenty thousand alterations of Shakespeare's text by mere 
conjecture, is a story that outrages all the laws of probability. 
And when we add, that hundreds of these alterations are 
found equal or superior in merit to the best that have been 
produced by the taste, learning, and critical acumen of the 
next two centuries, the tale becomes absolutely incredible. 



490 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS : 

There is but one way of explaining the mystery. The old 
Annotator was no critic, no ingenious contriver of new read- 
ings, but simply a scribe, who worked from the materials 
in his possession as blindly as the compositor in a printing- 
office follows "the copy," whether that copy be sense or non- 
sense. He was, as we have suggested, a player out of em- 
ployment, who sought to amuse his forced leisure by forming, 
from his own recollection of the plays in which he had often 
been an actor, and from the old manuscripts in the prompt- 
er's room, a text which should be more correct than the 
two wretchedly-printed folios, and which, by its numerous 
stage-directions and passages noted to be left out in the per- 
formance, should be a trustworthy and available guide when 
the playhouses should be opened again. He proceeds like a 
proof-reader, not like a commentator ; that is, he simply enters 
the correction in the margin, without adding a word of his 
own, by way of explanation, defence, or criticism. Commen- 
tators are not wont to be so concise. He often passes over 
obscure and corrupt passages, not having wherewithal to 
amend them; and still oftener makes an admirable emenda- 
tion of a line, which, in later times, no one even suspected of 
corruption. Sometimes he makes an explanation uncon- 
sciously, as when, intending only to enter a stage-direction, he 
pours daylight over something in the text, around which all 
subsequent editors have groped in darkness. We need only 
allude to his famous stage-direction in the Tempest, which 
shows the cause of that sudden somnolency of Miranda which 
has so often perplexed the reader. A modern emendator would 
surely have paused to clap his hands and glorify himself on 
such a discovery. The MS. Annotator is evidently uncon- 
scious that there is any difficulty to be overcome ; for always 
having seen the play rightly performed in this respect, every 
point appeared to him obvious and natural. 

But the decisive consideration to prove that the MS. An- 
notator worked from authority, and not from conjecture, is, 
that he supplies omissions and makes corrections, which, as 
every reader of common sense can see, lie wholly beyond the 
reach of conjectural emendation. Here we must adduce in- 
stances, and we approach this part of our task with unfeigned 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 491 

diffidence and reluctance. The maxim, quot homines, tot sen- 
tentim, is nowhere so applicable as to proposed emendations 
of the text of Shakespeare. It is notorious that no two crit- 
ics can be found to agree in opinion as to the merits or gen- 
uineness of any half-dozen proposed new readings. One is 
amused to find this remark so strikingly exemplified as it is 
among the several assailants of the MS. Annotator. Mr. 
Dyce affirms that to be certainly right which Mr. Singer says 
is undeniably wrong ; and the critic in " Putnam's Magazine " 
adopts what both declare to be inadmissible. We are sorry 
not to be able to follow even Mr. Collier's lead in this matter ; 
for we deem his selection of the best and least questionable 
emendations of the old Annotator often eminently unfortunate ; 
and his argument in defence of those which may admit of doubt 
is frequently a lame one, and rather weakens his cause. Our 
own selection, in the judgment of many, may be doubly cen- 
surable ; but when several instances are adduced, though one 
or two be condemned, the general verdict may be trusted as to 
the collective force of those which remain, so as to substantiate 
our conclusion that all of them could not have been framed by 
mere conjecture. 

1. In the Winter's Tale, when Paulina " offers to draw 
the curtain," as a stage-direction of the MS. Annotator in- 
forms us, before the supposed statue of Hermione, Leontes ex- 
claims, — 

"Let be! let be! 
"Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already 
I am but dead, stone looking upon stone. 
What was he, that did make it?" 

The whole line which we have italicized is supplied by the 
MS. Annotator, the passage having been printed in all editions 
without it. Before the discovery of his corrected copy of the 
folio of 1632, several editors had perceived that the sense was 
imperfect, and had placed a printer's dash after " already," at 
the end of the second line, as if Leontes in his ecstasy had left 
his sentence unfinished. The line now supplied seems to us so 
obviously Shakespearian in its turn of thought and expression, 
and tallies so precisely with the remainder of the speech, that 
it would almost argue insanity to doubt its genuineness. Mr. 



492 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS : 

Dyce says, " On first reading the new line, it appeared to me 
so exactly in the style of Shakespeare, that, like Mr. Collier, I 
felt ' thankful that it had been furnished.' But presently I 
found that it was too Shakespearian." His reason for think- 
ing so is, that Leontes, only a few speeches before, has ex- 
claimed, — 

" I am ashamed : does not the stone rebuke me, 
For being more stone than it 1 

Standing like stone with thee ! " 

Mr. Dyce concludes, as he thinks Shakespeare never repeats 
himself, "that a reviser of the play, with an eye to the pas- 
sage just cited, ingeniously constructed the said line to fill up 
a supposed lacuna." With all submission, we must prefer 
Mr. Dyce's first thoughts to his second ; for in all our acquaint- 
ance with critics and commentators, we have not yet found 
one who appears " ingenious " enough, with so slender a clue, 
to invent so Shakespearian a line as the one here given by the 
MS. Annotator. Whatever may be said of the similarity in 
the thought, the similarity in the expression is confined to the 
one word stone ; and as this is thrice repeated in the single 
speech cited by Mr. Dyce, we are not surprised to find, several 
speeches afterwards, that it is repeated twice more, this strik- 
ing addition being also made to the thought, " stone looking 
upon stone." Let him who doubts the genuineness of this ad- 
dition to the received text, invent an equally good one. For- 
tunately we are enabled to judge, as one of them has actually 
made the experiment. Mr. Singer says, " If a line were want- 
ing, and that is more than doubtful, a much better one has been 

suggested : — 

" But that, methinks, already 
i" am in heaven, and looking on an angel." 

Oh, Mr. Singer ! 

2. In the Second Part of Henry IV., Lord Bardolph draws 
a parallel between the building of a house and the carrying 
on of a war, and takes the case of a man attempting to build, 
and finding out by woful experience that he has not counted 
the cost. In this case, as in every other, we italicize what 
is supplied in writing by the MS. Annotator, and include in 
angular brackets that portion of the received text which he 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 493 

has struck out. Read the passage, omitting all that is in ital- 
ics, and you have the received text ; read it again, omitting all 
that is in brackets, and you have the speech as amended by the 
MS. Annotator. 

" What do we then, but draw anew the model 
In fewer offices ; or at [least] last desist 
To build at all ? Much more, in this great work, 
(Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down, 
And set another up,) should we survey 
The plot [of], the situation, and the model ; 
[Consent] Consult upon a sure foundation ; 
Question surveyors ; know our own estate, 
How able such a work to undergo. 
A careful leader sums what force he brings 
To weigh against his opposite ; or else 
We fortify [in] on paper, and in figures," etc. 

We say nothing of the minor verbal emendations of this pas- 
sage, though without them a portion of it is unintelligible, 
and with them the meaning is clear and consistent. But the 
whole line which is supplied by the MS. Annotator is so ob- 
viously necessary to make out the sense, (the words, " To 
weigh against his opposite," having otherwise nothing to cor- 
respond to them, and " his " no antecedent,) and is so clearly 
in the manner of Shakespeare, that we have not the slightest 
doubt that it came from his pen. 

Neither Mr. Dyce nor Mr. Singer says one word about this 
emendation, and considering its irresistible claims, their silence 
does not appear very ingenuous. The critic in " Putnam's 
Magazine " also passes it over without direct notice, having pre- 
viously made up his mind against the whole class of emen- 
dations to which it belongs, — those, namely, in which entire 
lines are supplied to complete a deficient sense. " No matter," 
he says, " how great the deficiency which they attempt to sup- 
ply, or how remarkable their intrinsic merits ; " they must be 
rejected, because " they are not emendations of typographical 
blunders, not the correction of that which is ill done, but the 
doing of that which was left undone ; " and he adds, very 
rightly, that " the interpolation of an entire line by one man 
is as little justifiable as the interpolation of an entire scene by 
another." 1 Here the critic has in view the very consideration 

1 The reason given by this critic for affirming " that the corrections in Mr. Col- 



494 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS : 

on which our present argument is based, though he makes a 
most illogical use of it. He sees clearly, as every one must 
do, that entire lines cannot be supplied by conjecture ; and hav- 
ing previously made up his mind that the MS. Annotator had 
nothing but conjecture to depend upon, he decides that the sup- 
plied lines must be rejected, however great the internal evidence 
in their favor. But we argue thus : The internal evidence, 
that the two entire lines supplied by the MS. Annotator could 
could not have been written by a commentator, is irresistible ; 
we grant that they could not have been supplied by conject- 
ure ; therefore, we have conclusive proof that the MS. Anno- 
tator could not have supplied them by conjecture, but must 
have worked with a manuscript authority before him. 

3. We have not yet done with the entire lines supplied by 
the MS. Annotator. Witness the following, which is added 
to a speech of Sir Eglamour, in the fourth act of The Two 
Gentlemen of Verona : — 

" Madam, I pity much your grievances, 
And the most true affections that you bear, 
Which since I know they virtuously are placed, 
I give consent to go along with you." 

Omit the line in italics, and Sir Eglamour is made to say, 
that, as he knows Silvia's "grievances" "virtuously are 
placed," he consents to go along with her to Mantua, — which 
is nonsense. The line supplied furnishes just the meaning 
that is needed, and tallies perfectly with Silvia's preceding 

lier's folio could not possibly have been made before 1662, when Davenant intro- 
duced the first scenery ever exhibited upon a public stage in England," is very 
curious. According to the stage directions of the MS. Annotator for Love's La- 
bour's Lost, Biron " gets him in a tree," and makes some remarks while " in the 
tree." The critic argues that such stage directions could not have been put forth 
before Davenant's stage impi-ovement was made. Why not argue, also, that the 
whole first scene of The Tempest is spurious because it is supposed to take place 
on board a ship ) or that many scenes in As You Like It ought to be rejected, be- 
cause they take place amid a whole forest of trees 1 It is evident that Biron is 
directed to speak " in a tree," just as Juliet makes love in " a balcony," — not 
that either the tree or the balcony was real, or even a good imitation of the real- 
ity ; but the actor was perched on a stand a few feet above the stage, with a par- 
tial covering in front, and the spectators' imaginations did the rest. We may re- 
mark, in passing, that the stage direction just cited, " He gets him in a tree," is a 
phrase that we should not expect to find after the ^Restoration, and from a mod- 
ern fashioner of conjectural readings, it would be simply ludicrous. The phrase 
is Elizabethan, or certainly not later than Charles I. 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 495 

speech ; and though it is not so obviously Shakespearian in its 
turn as the two previously cited, it is far above the power of 
any modern commentator to forge, and we therefore incorpo- 
rate it without hesitation into the mighty master's text. 

4. Again, in the third act of Coriolanus, Volumnia says, 

" Pray be counselled : 
I have a heart as little apt as yours 
To brook control without the use of anger ; 
But yet a brain, that leads my use of anger 
To better vantage." 

Without the line in italics, the sense is evidently incomplete, 
as there is nothing to which Volumnia's heart is " little apt ; " 
and we can plainly see how, in the careless printing of the 
first folio, the line was accidentally omitted. The next line 
also ending with the same words, " use of anger," the printer's 
j eye was caught by them, and he did not observe that they 
were repeated. The omission was supplied by the MS. An- 
notator, and who can believe that he, or any other man, was 
capable of forging such a line ? 

5. Lines in prose, as well as in verse, are sometimes omit- 
ted in the first folio. Thus, in the second act of The Twelfth 

s Night, a speech of Sir Andrew Aguecheek and the Clown's 
i reply are printed as follows, the two lines just filling up the 
I breadth of one of the two columns that constitute the folio 

j P a g e ; — 

"An. There 's a testrill of me too ; if one knight give a 

" Clo. Would you have a love song, or a song of good life ? " 

Here it is palpable that, by a printer's blunder, a portion of 

Sir Andrew's remark has dropped out. The MS. Annotator 

■ thus supplies the omission : — 

" Sir Toby. Come on ; there is sixpence for you ; let 's have a song. 
" Sir An. There is a testrill of me too ; if one knight give &way sixpence, so 
I will I give another : go to, a song. 

" Clown. Would you have a love song or a song of good life ? " 

He who was capable of inventing the words in italics, so 
perfectly in keeping with Sir Andrew's character and manner, 
might have written without effort the whole comic portion of 
The Twelfth Night. In mercy to Mr. Singer, we forbear to 
quote his comment, and the way in which he proposes to fill 
up the gap. 



496 



THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 



6. As a specimen of the careless way in which the first folio 
was printed, we will now give a passage from All 's Well that 
ends Well (Act I. Scene 3), precisely as it stands in that im- 
portant volume. 

" Clo. Was this faire face the cause, quoth she, 

Why the Grecians sacked Troy, 

Fond done, done, fond was this King Priams ioy, 

With that she sighed as she stood, bis 

And gaue this sentence then, among nine bad if one be 

good, among nine bad if one be good, there 's yet one 

good in ten 

' Cou. What, one good in tenne ? you corrupt the song 
sirra. 

' Clo. One good woman in ten Madam, which is a pu- 
rifying ath' song : would God would serue the world so 
all the yeere, weed find no fault with the tithe woman 
if I were the Parson, one in ten quoth a ? and wee might 
haue a good woman borne but ore euerie blazing starre, 
or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the Latteriewell," etc. 

We will now print the extract as the lines are arranged by 
the modern editors, and with the alterations and additions of 
the MS. Annotator in italics. 



Clo. 



Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, 



Why the Grecians sacked Troy 1 
Fond done, done fond, good sooth it was ; 

Was this King Priam's joy ? 
With that she sighed as she stood, 
With that she sighed as she stood, 

And gave this sentence then ; 
Among nine bad if one be good, 
Among nine bad if one be good, 

There 's yet one good in ten. 

" Count. What, one good in ten ? you corrupt the song, sirrah. 

" Clo. One good woman in ten, madam ; which is a purifying o' the song, 
and mending o' the sex. Would God would serve the world so all the year ! we'd 
find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quotha ! 
An we might have a good woman born — but one — every blazing star, or at an 
earthquake, 't would mend the lottery well," etc . 

The MS. Annotator certainly did not correct this passage 
and fill up the gaps in it by conjecture, though he might have 
done it by inspiration, or on the authority of a manuscript. 

7. In Much Ado about Nothing (Act II. Scene 1), Bea- 
trice compares " wooing, wedding, and repenting " to " a 
Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace," thus : — 



KESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 497 

" The first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical : the 
wedding, mannerly, modest, as a measure full of state and ancientry ; and then 
comes repentance, and with his bad legs falls into the cinque pace faster and 
faster, 'till he sink a pace into his grave." 

Without the words in italics, no one would have supposed 
that the passage needed any emendation ; but the MS. An- 
notator supplies them, and thus preserves a pun, very much 
in Shakespeare's manner, in which consists all the drollery of 
the latter part of the description. 

8. In The Merry Wives of Windsor (Act II. Scene 1), the 
Host exclaims, at the end of a short speech, according to the 
first folio, " Will you go, An-heires ? " The types were evi- 
dently jumbled together here, into one of those inexplica- 
ble compounds which are sometimes found, as all correctors 
of the press will testify, on the first proofs at a printing-office ; 
and all the commentators have been greatly puzzled to know 
what "An-heires" means. " Warburton suggested 4 her is, 
the old Scotch word for master ' ; Steevens, hearts ; Malone, 
hear us ; Boaden, cavaliers, &c." The MS. Annotator tells 
us to read, " Will you go on, here ? " The Host, being in 
a hurry, exhorts them again, just afterwards, " Here, boys, 
here, here! shall we wag?" Yet Mr. Dyce is dissatisfied 
with this simple and satisfactory emendation, and, in his 
usual manner, on the strength of an expression found in an 
old play printed in 1647, wishes us to read, " Will you go on, 
Mynheers f " This is almost as bad as Mr. Singer's conject- 
ures. We have quoted it only to show how completely the 
best critics are at fault, when they have nothing but internal 
evidence to depend upon, in the case of a passage that is ob- 
viously corrupt. 

We have not space for more instances, and more are not 
needed, though we could select from Mr. Collier's volume at 
least one hundred emendations, that have nearly as good a 
claim to a place in the text (judging from internal evidence 
alone) as the eight here mentioned. Individual readers might 
object to two or three out of the number ; but that the whole 
eight should have been invented, or made up by mere conjecture, 
by a poor player in the earlier part of the seventeenth century, 
is a supposition so extravagant and incredible, that it cannot 

32 



498 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 

be entertained for a moment. As the examples given are 
taken from eight different plays, the proof seems to be con- 
clusive that the MS. Annotator possessed authoritative ma- 
terials for the emendation of a correspondingly large portion 
of Shakespeare's text ; and by enlarging the selection of in- 
stances, the same argument might be made to apply, with 
nearly equal force, to at least four fifths of the plays that are 
included in the second folio. The Annotator must have had 
some means, beyond his own ingenuity, for amending at 
least thirty of the plays ; though it does not follow that his 
means were adequate to the entire correction of any one. 
Probably he had imperfect manuscripts, — transcripts of one 
or more of the sets of speeches to be spoken by each per- 
former at the representation of one of the dramas. And these 
manuscripts themselves, having been copied and recopied many 
times, must have contained many errors of transcription, and 
probably, also, some alterations designedly made by the per- 
formers for various purposes ; as we know that they softened 
Falstaff's profane ejaculations. We can thus account for a 
number of obviously corrupt passages, of which the MS. An- 
notator takes no notice, and also for certain alterations pro- 
posed by him that are manifestly indefensible. His authority, 
at the best, is no higher than that of the first folio, which we 
know to have been printed in great part from playhouse man- 
uscripts ; though the internal evidence shows that he made a 
far more careful use of his manuscripts than the printers of 
that folio did of theirs. But his authority, though not supe- 
rior, and perhaps not equal, to that of the first complete edi- 
tion in print, is still an authority of the same class. He gives 
us (to adopt a principle of classification which Griesbach has 
made familiar in reference to the manuscripts of the New Tes- 
tament) a new recension of the text, made from manuscripts 
of equal antiquity with those used in printing the first folio, 
though probably not so complete, — that is, not covering an 
equally large portion of the text. This conclusion is again 
rendered extremely probable by the fact, that, in several in- 
stances, the reading adopted by the MS. Annotator coincides 
with that of the old quartos, while it differs from that of the 
first folio. 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 499 

The conclusion of the whole matter, according to the view 
here taken of it, is, that the text for future editions of Shake- 
speare should be made up from collation of the three leading 
authorities, — the old quartos, the first folio, and the correc- 
tions of the MS. Annotator ; — not omitting any entire line 
found in either of them (as nothing, which probably came from 
Shakespeare's own hand, should be lost) ; and where the three 
vary, the choice between them must be decided by internal 
evidence alone. These three, and these three only, are au- 
thoritative sources of the text ; all else depends on mere taste 
and conjecture. 

The principle thus stated enables us to obviate at once the 
only objection of any importance that has been made to the 
readings of the MS. Annotator. It is objected that many of 
these readings are obviously inadmissible, and (so far as in- 
ternal evidence can prove anything) cannot have formed part 
of Shakespeare's own text. We admit it ; but we must re- 
mind the objectors, that precisely the same thing can be said of 
the first folio. Hundreds, perhaps we might say thousands, of 
readings in that edition are now rejected by almost unanimous 
consent, the passages containing them being obviously corrupt. 
The folio also omits a great number of entire lines (we have 
pointed out four or five plays in which about six hundred are 
left out) which are indisputably genuine. This objection, 
consequently, to the labors of the MS. Annotator, falls entirely 
to the ground ; it is of no weight whatever. 

It may be said, however, that the number of inadmissible 
readings proposed by him bears so large a proportion to those 
which may be allowed to be correct, as to discredit his whole 
performance. If we were compelled to accept, for instance, the 
computation made by the critic in " Putnam's Magazine," and 
allow, that, out of one thousand three hundred and three pro- 
posed modifications of the text, only two hundred and ninety 
are good, and one hundred and sixty-six more are plausible, 
there would be some force in this argument. But this critic, as 
well as all the English assailants of the newly discovered cor- 
rections, proceeds upon the assumption that the MS. Annota- 
tor worked by conjecture alone, without any authority what- 
ever ; and this assumption being now turned the other way, 



500 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATOKS : 

the internal evidence assumes an entirely new aspect. Thus, 
to borrow the instance selected by Mr. Collier, if the old read- 
ing (with which all minds had became familiar) of Lady Mac- 
beth's appalling invocation, had been as follows : — 

" Come, thick night, 
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, 
That my keen knife^ see not the wound it makes, 
Nor heaven peep through the blankness of the dark, 
To cry, ' Hold, Hold ! ' " — 

what would be said of any critic who should advise us to sub- 
situte blanket instead of blankness? He would certainly be 
placed, on the scale of conjectural emendations, lower even than 
Mr. Singer. Let all the corrections proposed in Mr. Collier's 
volume be tried in this manner ; that is, suppose that they 
constitute the old and received text, and let what are now the 
old readings be regarded as conjectural emendations ; and we 
doubt not that the general voice would pronounce in favor of 
at least five sixths of the corrections now recently brought to 
light. The corps of critics, commentators, and editors would 
probably do battle in favor of the whole of them. But this 
mode of trial, as Mr. Collier very candidly admits, would not 
be a fair one, the prejudice in favor of the old reading being 
strong enough to outweigh almost any amount of internal evi- 
dence. The only method of weighing the two sets of readings 
fairly against each other, on their intrinsic merits alone, would 
be to adopt the principle which we have now laid down, and 
to suppose that they are of equal external authority ; to sup- 
pose, for example, that they were both first published in the 
same year, from two equal and independent sets of manuscripts. 
Tested in this manner, it is very safe to say that at least a 
majority of the MS. Annotator's readings would be preferred. 
" It cannot be surprising," says Mr. Collier, " that individu- 
als who, for many years, have been accustomed to see passages, 
even such as are avowedly corrupt, repeated in every edition, 
and to hear them recited by the best performers of our own or 
other days, should at first feel repugnance to proposed altera- 
tions, however excellent." It should be noted, also, that this 
prepossession attaches itself most strongly to those expressions 
which are salient on account of their rarity, their obscurity, or 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 501 

their doubtful construction, and which, for this very reason, 
are most likely to be corrupt. These are peculiarities in the 
text, — marked passages, as it were, which have attracted the 
attention and exercised the ingenuity of all loving readers of 
the great dramatist, each one of whom has probably selected 
for them a pet explanation of his own, and they have thus 
naturally come to be regarded as peculiarly Shakespearian. 
Weighty and palpable must be the evidence that would dis- 
place them. Thus, when Othello exclaims, 

" Put out the light, and then put out the light ; " 

when Macbeth soliloquizes, 

" If 't were done, when 't is done, then 't were well 
It were done quickly ; " 

when Gadshill describes those who are about to rob on the 
highway with him as " burgomasters and great oneyers ; " 
when Dogberry speaks of himself as " a fellow that hath had 
losses" — the expressions have become consecrated, as it were, 
in the mind of every loving admirer of Shakespeare, and he 
will resist to the death any change in them. A similar feeling 
(it would be too harsh to call it a prejudice') exists with regard 
to many expressions in the common English version of the 
Scriptures, which might be profitably amended, as they are 
either un grammatical, incorrect, or obsolete, if the change did 
not disturb, in the minds of millions, associations which ought 
to be held sacred. It would be unquestionably more correct 
to say, " Our Father who art," than " Our Father which art " ; 
and when we read, " Jesus prevented him, saying," we know 
that the expression in this sense is obsolete, and may even con- 
vey a wrong idea to common readers. Yet what person of 
taste and devotion would like to hear these expressions altered 
in reading from the pulpit ? We need not show how this feel- 
ing has operated to prevent the emendations of the MS. Anno- 
tator from being fairly weighed on their intrinsic merits. We 
respect the feeling itself, as it springs from an amiable and 
honorable source. But it should not blind our eyes to the 
weight of testimony. 

The most common mode of attacking Mr. Collier's volume 
has been to select the weakest and least defensible emendations, 



502 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS : 

or those which most strongly counteract the prepossession just 
described, and then to appeal vehemently to the common feel- 
ing of reverence for Shakespeare, which should guard his text 
from tasteless conjectural alteration. In the first place, this 
reasoning is unfair. Let the best conjectural emendator — let 
Theobald himself — be tried by the test of the poorest and 
least probable changes that he has proposed, and his reputation 
as a critic would instantly disappear. Secondly, the reasoning 
contains a gross petitio principii ; it takes for granted the two 
chief points at issue, namely, that the first folio, in the case of 
the very words in question, does contain the text of Shake- 
speare, and that the corrections of the MS. Annotator are mere 
guesswork. This gross fallacy, as we have seen, is the sole 
reason assigned by the New York critic for not even taking 
into consideration those cases in which the MS. Annotator pro- 
fesses to have restored an entire line to the text. 

The most common complaint against these emendations is, 
that they often clear up obscurity at the expense of reducing a 
poetical expression to a prosaic one, and frequently restore 
rhythm and metre to lines which, in the received text, were 
glaringly deficient in one or both. Now certain assumptions 
form the groundwork of this complaint, which we are by no 
means inclined to admit. We deny that Shakespeare is gen- 
erally, or even frequently, an obscure writer, or that he is a 
lawless versifier. The obscurity of a passage, we hold, is at 
least primd facie evidence that it is corrupt. On this point, 
we are sorry to be obliged to differ from so able and judicious 
a critic as Mr. Hallam. 

" It is impossible to deny," he says, " that innumerable lines in 
Shakespeare were not more intelligible in his time than they are at 
present. Much of this may be forgiven, or rather is so incorporated 
with the strength of his reason and fancy, that we love it as the proper 
body of Shakespeare's soul. Still can we justify the very numerous 
passages which yield to no interpretation, knots which are never un- 
loosed, which conjecture does but cut, or even those which, if they may 
at last be understood, keep the attention in perplexity till the first 
emotion has passed away ? . . . . We learn Shakespeare, in fact, as 
we learn a language, or as we read a difficult passage in Greek, with 
the eye glancing on the commentary ; and it is only after much study 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 503 

that we come to forget a part, it can be but a part, of the perplexities 
he has caused us." — Literature of Europe, Vol. III. p. 92. 

With all submission, we think that this criticism was writ- 
ten without that careful study of the history of the text, which 
discloses the astonishing extent, and the causes, of its corrup- 
tion. An obscure writer is habitually and continually obscure, 
the defect arising from some peculiarity in his habits of 
thought, or from his imperfect capacity of expression. But 
Shakespeare is obscure only by fits and starts. Take some of 
his plays the text of which is least imperfect, such as Rich- 
ard II., Romeo and Juliet, or King John ; and we may read 
scene after scene without finding a sentence which would pre- 
sent a difficulty to a child's understanding. Then suddenly 
comes a passage, most frequently a single sentence, which is 
as dark as Erebus. Take the long passages which are most 
frequently quoted and recited, — the affecting scene between 
Prince Arthur and Hubert, the quarrel of Brutus and Cassius, 
the long speeches in Julius Caesar, several of the soliloquies in 
Macbeth and Hamlet, — and omit perhaps half a dozen lines 
in each, and the rest is as lucid as a child's story-book. All 
experience goes to show, when we know the circumstances of 
the case, that the lack of perspicuity is a persistent and inbred 
characteristic of style that constantly betrays itself. An ob- 
scure writer, like Mr. Browning, is obscure upon system, as it 
were, never being perspicuous but by accident. Just the re- 
verse is true of Shakespeare. 

Again, an incomplete command of language is the most fre- 
quent cause of a labored and perplexed style. But among all 
the characteristics of the great dramatist, we know hardly of 
one so marvellous as his absolute mastery of expression. Lan- 
guage is his tricksy spirit, as Ariel was to Prospero, and does 
his " strong bidding " gently, 

" be 't to fly, 
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
On the curled clouds." 

For any purpose, he can " task Ariel and all his quality.'' 
Shakespeare wrote for the populace, and it was his business to 
make himself intelligible to the populace. And this he accom- 
plishes without effort, without painfully ransacking the vocab- 



504 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS : 

ulary, or mutilating the thought in its expression. The plain- 
est and most familiar terms, the short and pithy Anglo-Saxon 
phrases in which common men talk on common occasions, serve 
to exhibit all the riches of his imagination and the depths of 
his philosophy. With the ordinary coin of the market-place, 
he pays the ransom of kings. Take the most thoughtful and 
imaginative musings, — the remonstrance of Isabella to Angelo 
against the abuse of power, Portia's eulogy on mercy, Ham- 
let's soliliquy on suicide, Lear's ravings on the injustice of this 
world, Claudio's ecstacy of fright at the near prospect of death, 
and a thousand others, — dissect the language (if you can have 
the heart to do it), and note the homeliness of the words and 
phrases, when they are taken singly. At times, again, Shake- 
speare seems to play with language ; he runs in sport over the 
whole gamut of expression, but with the assured touch of a 
master hand sweeping the keys. Hamlet, who has just been 
using the vocabulary of the street and the gutter, begins to 
tell the bewildered Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, — 

" Indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly 
frame, the earth, seems to me a steril promontory ; this most excellent 
canopy, the air, — look you ! — this brave overhanging firmament, this 
majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing 
to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors" 

Macbeth says his hand, never to be cleansed from blood, will 
rather 

" The multitudinous seas incarnadine, 
Making the green one red." 

It would be a miracle if such a writer were obscure. His page 
has been begrimed and covered with dark spots, only through 
the rough handling it has received. 

It may well be that the restoration of the true text, though 
it dissipates the obscurity of a passage, will seem to lessen its 
poetical effect, as darkness is one source of the sublime. Even 
this result is not much to be deplored. Shakespeare will not 
lose much, if only that portion of his poetry is taken away in 
which we can with difficulty spell out a meaning. Critics of 
the German school have used a great deal of cant on this sub- 
ject, as if there were an esoteric significance in many expres- 
sions, not to be deciphered by people of common understand- 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 505 

ing. They forget that the mighty master belonged himself to 
the people, and wrote for the people. It would almost seem as 
if they prized the sense of any passage only in proportion to 
the difficulty of getting at it. In many lines, which are simply 
corrupt, they have, after their stupidly profound fashion, dis- 
covered a world of meaning. According to their apprehen- 
sions, Shakespeare is like Hudibras, who 

" could not ope 
His mouth, but out there flew a trope." 

However misplaced or senseless the expression may seem to 
ordinary readers, they can discover some remote analogy in it, 
some glimpse of a hidden truth, or some erratic flight of the 
imagination, to which they cling with all the more earnestness, 
as it is not visible to eyes profane. Then comes the MS. An- 
notator, and, by restoring a letter which had dropt out, or al- 
tering the collocation of a word or two, reduces the passage to 
plain narrative, or simple prose, and they cry out, — 

" Pol, me occidistis, amici, 
Non servastis, .... cui sic extorta voluptas, 
Et demptus per vim mentis gratissimus error." 

We cannot sympathize with them in their affliction. How- 
ever prone Shakespeare is to the use of figurative language, it 
will not surely be denied that he uses words in their literal, at 
least six times as frequently as in a metaphorical, meaning. 
It follows, then, that an emendation of the text, which in 
clearing up an obscure passage, reduces a figurative expression 
to a literal one, is at least six times as probable as a different 
suggestion, which does just the reverse. So, also, while we 
admit that Shakespeare's lines are often left, designedly or 
carelessly, unrhythmical and unmetrical, it is certain that his 
versification is far more frequently regular than irregular ; and 
therefore, to say the least, there is no presumption against a 
newly proposed reading, in that, while it dissipates obscurity 
or completes the sense, it also pieces out an imperfect verse, or 
restores smoothness to a halting one. Keep these observations 
in mind, and at least half of the criticisms which have been 
made upon the work of the MS. Annotator cease to have any 
weight whatever. 

We have already spoken of the erroneous principles of what 



506 THE BATTLE OF THE COMMENTATORS: 

may be called the antiquarian and bibliomaniac mode of 
amending or criticising the text of Shakespeare. Mr. Dyce's 
volume abounds with mistakes of this class, of whicn we can 
cite only the following instance. In the third act of the 
Comedy of Errors, Antipholus of Syracuse says to Luciana, — 

" Far more, far more, to you do I [decline] incline.'* 

The MS. Annotator tells us to substitute incline for decline, 
which is the reading of the folio; and Mr. Dyce thus objects 
to the emendation. 

" The manuscript corrector merely substituted a word more familiar 
to himself and those of his time than ' decline.' That the latter is 
what Shakespeare wrote, is not to be doubted : compare Greene. 
' That the loue of a father, as it was royall, so it ought to be impar- 
tiall, neither declining to the one nor to the other, but as deeds doe 
merite.' — Penelope's Web, sig. G 4, ed. 1601." 

As only one authority is here cited for the use of the word 
with this unusual signification, we cannot help suspecting that 
in .Greene's text, as well as in Shakespeare's, " declining " was 
substituted for " mclining " by a mere error of the press. But 
however this may be, every one will admit that it is safer to 
try and ascertain what Shakespeare wrote from Shakespeare 
himself, than from Greene. Turning to Mrs. Cowden Clarke's 
Concordance, we find about twenty instances in which " in- 
cline " is used in its present ordinary signification. We select 
the following cases : — 

" I more incline to Somerset." — Henry VI. 

" If he would incline to the people." — Coriolanus. 

"We must incline to the king." — Lear. 

" Would Desdemona seriously incline." — Othello. 

Using the same convenient guide, we find some twenty cases 
more in which " decline " appears in what is now its usual 
meaning, and not one instance, except the very case now in 
question, to the contrary. Take the following examples: — 

" Who thrives, and who declines." — Coriolanus. 

"At the height, are ready to decline." — Julius Ccesar. 

" Spare speech : decline your head." — Lear. 

" A great name should decline ?" — Henry VIII. 

In view of these cases, we presume even Mr. Dyce will admit 



RESTORATION OF THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. 507 

that it " is not to be doubted " that the proper word is " in- 
cline." In his bibliomaniac ardor, he overlooked thirty or 
forty undeniable examples, which were close under his eyes, 
for the sake of quoting one doubtful case from a book which 
nobody but an antiquarian ever heard of. 

But our remarks have already extended to an inconvenient 
length, and we must here leave the discussion of a fascinating 
topic. Our purpose has been, throughout, not so much to 
vindicate the great importance of Mr. Collier's discovery, as 
to show the causes why it has been so vehemently assailed, 
and the false principles of criticism which have been applied, 
in this case and in many others, to the examination of Shake- 
speare's text. But the question will finally be decided by the 
sure instinct of the public taste, which, we cannot doubt, will 
soon reverse the sentence of the present generation of editors, 
critics, and commentators, and finally incorporate into the 
received text far the larger portions of the emendations made 
by a poor player in the first half of the seventeenth century. 



INDEX. 



Ancients and Moderns, war between, 5; 
in the American Academy, 6 ; arts of 
the, 24 ; science and learning of the, 27 ; 
Mill's estimate of the, 28. 

Animals, mind of, 328. See Brutes. 

Animists, doctrine of the, 192. 

Annotator of Shakespeare, old manu- 
script of the, 475 ; handwriting of, 479 ; 
erasures by, 480; probable time of the, 
481; certainly an old player, 482; ad- 
mitted emendations by the, 486 ; did not 
amend by guesswork, 489 ; but like a 
proof-reader, 490; his readings cited 
and defended, 491; high authority of 
the, 498; objections to his work obvi- 
ated, 499. 

Annuities as a form of National Debt, 
76; advantages of, 79. 

Aristotle on the common and higher 
sense, 145; on the sense of touch, 153; 
on Causation, 164 ; on Matter and Form, 
165. 

Arnatjld, the Jansenist, 397, 399. 

Atheism leads to pessimism, 370. 



profit not by experience, 338; do not dis- 
criminate, 343; are clairvoyant through 
instinct, 344; their substitute for rea- 
son, 348 ; the organs of, how generated, 
349. 

Buckle, History of Civilization by, 247; 
criticised, 248 ; a fatalist and materialist, 
250; blunders of, 252; his misuse of 
statistics, 256 ; as a historian, 259 ; mu- 
tilates the facts, 260 ; defects of his 
theory, 261; builds on false political 
economy, 262 ; his statements .confuted, 
263 ; faults of his method, 265 ; on intel- 
lect and conscience, 267; on science, 
278; on war, 283; childish reasoning 
of, 286. 

Bunsen, wild speculations of, 432; Hegel- 
ianism of, 434. 

Capital, effects of the accumulation of, 
129. 

Cause, Idea of, 164; Aristotle's four sorts 
of, 165 ; Immanent and Transeunt, 166 ; 
principle of, 167 ; distinguished from 
reasons, 168; Jiendi and cognoscendi, 
169; enduring and transitory, 171; oc- 
casional, instrumental, and physical, 173 ; 
efficient, 165, 175 ; operates beyond it- 
self, 177 ; final, 178 ; of gravity, 182 ; 
in living organisms, 186 ; various theories 
of, 187, 318; resolved into mental action, 
192 ; unconscious, 194. 

Christianity, Oxford attack on, 421; is 
obsolete, according to Dr. Temple, 428 ; 
not yet superseded, 431 ; is essentially 
miraculous, 437 ; Wilson's attack on, 
441. 

Civilization, Buckle's history of, 247; 
not due to the progress of knowledge, 



510 



INDEX. 



267 ; definition of, 273 ; of Rome, 274 ; 
advanced by morality, 275 ; and by 
religion, 276; little aided by science, 
278. 

Classical Studies, vindication of, 5, 8; 
educational value of, 9; number of pu- 
pils in, 10; infused into modern litera- 
ture and science, 12 ; English authors 
imbued with, 13 ; necessary for teachers, 
15; liberalizing effects of, 16; nomen- 
clature of science founded on, 17 ; in- 
fluence of, on modern civilization, 21; 
conservative influence of, 29 ; endangered 
by excessive study of grammar, 30. 

Clergymen, origin of scepticism among, 
423. 

Collier, J. P., discovers an old annotator 
on Shakespeare, 457, 475; doubtful con- 
duct of, 477, Note ; on the erasures and 
emendations, 480. 

Commentators, battle of the, on Shake- 
speare, 457 ; attack Collier's folio, 475 ; 
hubbub among the, 476; spoiled by 
bibliomania, 487. 

Consciousness, limits of, 159. 

Conservation of force, 183 ; is only con- 
vertibility of motion, 185. 

Currency, evils of inflating the, 62, 116 ; 
spontaneous contraction of the, 63; ex- 
cessive issues of paper, 114; fixed amount 
of,.H5. 

Darwin on the brute mind, 329. 

Darwinism, 199 ; founded on Malthusian- 
ism, 361; cardinal doctrine of, disproved, 
362; sterility of cultivated races, 365; 
the lower races survive, 367. See Evo- 
lution. 

Debts, National, origin of, 71 ; mode of 
funding, 72 ; why have any, 74; should 
be paid off soon, 75; should be funded 
in short annuities, 76; demoralizing ef- 
fects of, 81, 100; not justly made per- 
petual, 82; a mortgage on the labor of 
posterity, 84; American policy respect- 
ing, 86 ; dangers of great hereditary, 90 ; 
in England, 96 ; in the United States, 
97; taxation caused by, 98; strengthen 
the Union, 103; owned at home, 105. 

Diseases not hereditable, 232. 

Dollar, laws affecting the value of the, 
48. 



Dualism in philosophy, 136; of man. 

149. 
Dyce as an editor of Shakespeare, 485; 

a bibliomaniac, 488 ; mistake of, 506. 

Efficient and final causation, 165 ; union 
of, 179. 

Effort, idea of, 306. 

Empiricism disproved, 301, 314. 

Energy is cause in action, 184. 

Essays and Reviews characterized, 421. 

Etherization, psychical effects of, 242; 
unlike sleep or a swoon, 245. 

Evidences of Christianity, study of the, 
424; Baden Powell on the, 436; Mark 
Pattison on, 450 ; causes of studying, 
451. 

Evolution, theory of, 199; five steps of, 
200; through natural selection, 201; evi- 
dence of, 202; arguments against, 204; 
denies final cause, 211 ; denies creation, 
214; of instinct, 220; of man, 221; of 
intermediate forms, 222. 

Fatalism as taught by Buckle, 251 ; argu- 
ments against, 254; statistical evidence 
for, 256; Mill's theory of, 320. 

Final Cause, 165, 178; denied by the 
Evolution theory, 212, 217. 

Finances of the War, 93 ; instructive his- 
tory of the, 108; blunders in the conduct 
of the, 111. 

Force, conservation of, 183. 

Formal Cause, nature of, 165. 

France, attempted double standard of 
value in, 46. 

Funding a National Debt, 72 ; in France, 
73 ; in short annuities, 76. 

George III., insanity of, 234. 

Germany, silver demonetized in, 41. 

Godwin, Political Justice of, 352. 

Gold, decline in the value of, 35; ratio ot, 
to silver, 48 ; abrasion of the coinage of, 
56 ; sales of, by the United States Treas- 
ury, 67. 

Goodwin, C. W., on the Mosaic cos- 
mogony, 448; criticised and refuted, 
449. 

Grammar dependent on Classical Studies, 
12; abuse of the study of, 30. 

Gravity not a Cause, 182. 



INDEX. 



511 



Hamilton, Mill's examination of the phi- 
losophy of, 288 ; on freedom of the will, 
321, 323. 

Haetmann as a pessimist, 375; advice 
given by, 377 ; three illusions of, 378. 

Hegelianism of Bunsen, 434. 

Humboldt as a pessimist, 376. 

Huxley on the brute mind, 329. 

Idealism contrasted with Materialism, 
136. 

Immanent and Transeunt Causes, 166. 

Inheritance of abnormal traits, 203 ; ar- 
guments against, 232. 

Insanity, assumed inheritance of, 232; 
of George III., not inherited or trans- 
mitted, 234. 

Instinct, nature of, 193; not transmut- 
able, 224; clairvoyance in, 344. 

Jansenius, the Augustinus of, 396. 

Jefferson against the perpetuity of Na- 
tional Debts, 87. 

Jesuits, origin and policj'- of the, 393 ; de- 
feated by Pascal, 400 ; morality of, 402. 

Jowett, Prof., on the Interpretation of 
Scripture, 454 ; low rationalism of, 455. 

Knight on the quarto copies of Shake- 
speare's plays, 466, 468. 

Mainlander as a pessimist, 376. 

Malthusianism in Political Economy, 
131; origin of, 351; pessimism of, 352; 
outline of, 353 ; decline of, 356 ; refutation 
of, 357; adopted into Darwinism, 361; 
and into pessimism, 370. 

Material Cause, nature of, 165. 

Materialism, reasons for and against, 
136 ; absurd assumptions of, 146 ; various 
hypotheses of, 148; Ruskin's ridicule of, 
151; Tait's evidence against, 154; re- 
jects the unit}' of consciousness, 162 ; on 
Causation, 175 ; finds no real Cause, 180. 

Matter, incessant changes of, 143; com- 
parative unreality of, 156; has no dy- 
namical properties, 185; Mill's theory of, 
299, 308. 

Maudsley on the mechanism of the brain, 
146 ; confesses the weakness of his theory, 
147. 

Mill, J. S., on Greek civilization, 28; on 



Hamilton's Philosophy, 288; on insepa- 
rable association, 290 ; on infinite space, 
292 ; on the relativity of knowledge, 294 ; 
blunders about immediate and absolute, 
295 ; his theory of Matter confuted, 299 ; 
his empiricism disproved, 301, 314; re- 
solves space into motion, 303; on the 
cognition of Self, 305; on effort, 307; 
on Berkeley, 308 ; on Mind, 309 ; Solip- 
sismus of, 310 ; on Causation, 317 ; ne- 
cessitarianism of, 320 ; on moral respon- 
sibility, 327. 

Mind, unity and sameness of, 143; ubiq- 
uity of, to the body, 150, 160 ; more real 
than matter, 155 ; Nature constructed 
by, 158; locates its sensations, 160; is 
outside of time and space, 196 ; the hu- 
man and the brute, compared, 328; de- 
pendent on experience, 340. 

Miracle, nature of, 190. 

Molina, doctrine of, 395. 

Money, two distinct functions of, 52. 

Mosaic Cosmogony, Goodwin on, 448. 

National Church, Wilson on the, 440; 

Coleridge's theory respecting the, 443; 

Debt, perpetuity of, 71. See Debts. 
Natural Selection of species, 201; does 

not explain the origin of species, 208; 

fatalistic nature of, 215. 
Nihilism in Russia, 372. 

Occasional Cause, 173. 

Oxford clergymen, Essays by, 421. 

Pangenesis theory refuted, 191. 

Paper currency, fluctuating value of, 51. 

Pascal, precocity of, 381 ; biography of, 
382 ; inventions of, 386 ; as a mathema- 
tician, 387; as a physicist, 388; religious 
fervor of, 391; as a Port Royalist, 394; 
on faith and fact, 398; Provincial Let- 
ters of, 400; physical sufferings of, 407; 
origin of the " Thoughts " of, 409 ; edi- 
tions of, 410; gloomy eloquence of, 407; 
purpose and argument of, 412; on human 
nature, 413 ; on the authority of the an- 
cients, 416; selected aphorisms of, 418. 

Pattison, Mark, on Religious Thought in 
England, 449; denies the value of the 
Evidences, 450; criticised and refuted, 
452; foolish sarcasms of, 453. 



512 



INDEX. 



Personality, significance of, 142. 

Pessimism the result of atheism, 370; 
prevalence of, in Germany, 371; fearful 
consequences of, 372 ; under the Roman 
Empire, 373 ; history of, 374. 

Physical, causation, nature of, 173, 439; 
Cause, or Law, 173 ; is not a real Cause, 
181; does not explain action, 188. 

Political, Economy, the Science of, 118 ; 
partial influence of, 119 ; pushed to theo- 
retical extremes, 120; bias of English 
writers on, 121 ; bearing of statistics on 
the study of, 122; need of an American 
system of, 123; prejudices corrected by, 
125; dangers of neglecting, 126; of the 
Poor Laws, 128 ; of the increase of popu- 
lation, 130. 

Port Royalists, origin of the, 393; doc- 
trines of, 394 ; defended by Pascal, 400 ; 
miraculous deliverance of, 404. 

Powell, Baden, on the Evidences, 436; 
denies any external revelation, 437 ; con- 
fused about physical causation, 439. 

Provincial Letters of Pascal, 400. 

Psychical and physical phenomena con- 
trasted, 136 ; comparative evidence of, 
138 ; immediately apprehended, 140 ; 
identity of the subject of, 143 ; synthesis 
of, 144; reality of, 155. 

Reasons are not Causes, 168. 
Rome, pessimism in ancient, 373, 
Ruskin, materialism ridiculed by, 151. 

Science dependent on classical studies, 
19; modern civilization little affected by, 
22 ; does not multiply inventions, 25 ; 
little influence of, on civilization, 278; 
does not promote invention, 280; nor 
stop war, 283. 

Shakespeare, corrupt state of the text 
of, 457; unconscious of greatness, and 
negligent, 458; wrote for the populace, 
460 ; aimed only to fill his purse, 462 ; 
never published his plays, 463; quarto 
editions of his plays, 465 ; maimed cop- 
ies of, 467; first folio of, 470; abridged, 
to shorten the performance, 471 ; re- 
wrote other dramatists, 473; discover}' 
of the annotated folio of, 475; correc- 
tions of the text of, 486; discussion of 
various readings in, 491; natural preju- 



dice for old readings in, 500 ; not obscure 
in style, 502; a great master of lan- 
guage, 503; his verse usually smooth, 
505. 

Shame, instinct of, 228. 

Silver, fluctuations in the price of, 33 ; 
great depreciation of, 37 ; increased prod- 
uct of, 38; diminished export of, to 
India, 39; demonetized by England, 40; 
and by Germany, 41; and other coun- 
tries, 42; cannot now be made a stand- 
ard of value, 45, 54; French coinage of, 
46 ; American coinage of, 47 ; laws reg- 
ulating the value of, 48; demonetized in 
this country, 50; inconvenient bulk and 
weight of, 55; loss of, by abrasion, 56; 
useful for subsidiary currency, 59 ; sum 
of conclusions in the Report on, 68. 

Singer, S. W., as an editor of Shake- 
speare, silliness of, 484; stupid sugges- 
tion by, 492. 

Space, Mill on the infinity of, 292; direct 
intuition of, 301. 

Specie payments, resumption of, 59 ; na- 
tional honor requires, 66 ; suspension 
of, 113. 

Species, origin of, 204. 

Standard of value, 45, 53 ; evils caused 
by the want of a, 65. 

Struggle for life, 201, 207. 

Suicide by sympathetic imitation, 236. 

Tait, Prof., against materialism, 154. 

Taxation caused by our Civil War, 98; 
absurdity of prospective, 112. 

Technological Institute, foundation of 
the, 14; taught by classical scholars, 15. 

Temple, F., on the education of the world, 
425 ; fanciful notions of, 426 ; only seri- 
ous purpose of, 427 ; refuted, 428 ; half 
a Positivist, 429 ; sophistry of, 430. 

Theology, influence of the study of, 423. 

Thoughts of Pascal, origin of the, 409 ; 
editions of the, 410 ; cited and charac-. 
terized, 412. 

Utilitarian Studies, nugatory results of, 
7 ; Bigelow's vehement advocacy of, 9 ; 
notion of civilization, 24. 

Value, futility of a double standard of, 
45. 



INDEX. 



513 






Variation of species, 200; evidence for, 



War of the Great Rebellion, magnitude 
of the, 93 ; difficulties of the, 94 ; enor- 
mous expense of, 95 ; advantages gained 
by, 101 ; horrors of, 106. 

Wealth must be perpetually renewed, 88. 



Williams, Dr., Essay on Bunsen by, 432; 
lacks candor, 433; teaches Hegelianism 
without knowing it, 434. 

Wilson, Henry B., on the National 
Church, 440 ; whines and frets, 441 ; re- 
futed, 442 ; on clerical subscription, 444 ; 
casuistry of, 445 ; dishonest position of, 
447. 



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